


Darkest Before the Dawn

by RocknVaughn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Merlin, Canon Era, Episode: s04e03 The Wicked Day, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Magical Artifacts, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 64,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King of Camelot is mortally wounded on the anniversary of the Prince's birth, a distraught and desperate Arthur is willing to try anything to save his father's life: even magic. </p><p>For years, Merlin has ached to tell Arthur the truth; has yearned for Arthur to see him--and accept him--as he really is. Yet, something has always held him back, until now. For there is nothing that Merlin would not do for Arthur...even if if that something is revealing himself as a sorcerer in order to try to save Uther.</p><p>But the consequences of these actions turn out to be more far-reaching than anyone expects, and it isn't long before everything goes terribly, horribly pear-shaped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Secret Revealed

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: First and foremost, I would like to thank After Camlann for picking up where Paperlegends left off to continue the wonderful Merlin Big Bang tradition, and also for giving me the extra time I needed to finish this story. 
> 
> Next, the "I'm not worthy!" bowing and scraping goes to the lovely Amphigoury for her jaw-droppingly awesome art. (OMG, go give it lots of love right now! You won't be sorry! <3) I am not afraid to admit that there were days that knowing I would be letting you down was the only thing that kept me from throwing my laptop against the wall. It was so much fun watching my words become your pictures, and I loved talking plot points and art beta with you. 
> 
> I hope you'd be willing to collaborate again in the future, because it has been wonderful working with you!
> 
> Link to Art Masterpost: http://amphigoury.livejournal.com/50296.html
> 
> A _huge_ thanks to my great friend and amazing beta [Nightfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox), who--as usual--went way above and beyond the call of duty to make my story WAY better than it would otherwise have been. *hugs you fiercely*
> 
> The A++ Britpick award goes to [Camelittle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/%0ACamelittle), who had her work cut out for her to make me sound British! You were a joy to work with. Thank you so much for your help!
> 
> Lots of love to [altocello](http://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello) and [jelazakazone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/jelazakazone), who regularly listened to all my squeeing and whinging with compassionate ears, and also to the Chatzy crew for all your positive vibes and support. (And thank you, [shadowofrazia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowofrazia/pseuds/shadowofrazia), for the great magical artifact name! <3) 
> 
> And finally, to another good friend [pensive_bodhisattva](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pensive_bodhisattva/pseuds/pensive_bodhisattva), who was my cheerleader and moral support for all these months. You talked me down off the ledges and kept my spirits up so many times I've lost count. I really, honestly would not have made it to posting day without you! <3
> 
> Artist's Notes: Big thanks to my trusy betas [altocello](http://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello) and [alby_mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves) for their fantastic advice. Hats off to the mods of ACBB for keeping the Merlin Big Bang tradition rolling. You rock! Finally, thanks and hugs to Rockn! We did it!

It had been a good day, which was a blessing. A fond smile tugged at one corner of Merlin’s mouth as he folded down the coverlet of Arthur’s bed, preparing it for when he returned from visiting his father. Despite his grumpy complaining earlier that day, Arthur had indeed enjoyed the anniversary of his birth. It was good to see. Arthur didn’t smile nearly enough these days.

Ever since Morgana’s betrayal several months before, King Uther had not been himself…so much so, in fact, that Arthur had taken over his duties and been serving as regent for his father. Arthur had shouldered this additional mantle of responsibility without complaint and handled it with aplomb, earning the respect of nobles and peasants alike.

Distracted, Merlin’s hands smoothed over a crease in the sheet again and again as his thoughts went round in circles.

Merlin knew more than anyone the toll it took on Arthur, as it seemed Arthur was only comfortable admitting to Merlin how inept and unprepared for rule he often felt. Not even Gwen was privy to those particular thoughts. For while she often inspired Arthur to be a better man, he also ended up hiding parts of himself so as to not disappoint her. But with Merlin, Arthur was able to relax his guard and be himself, warts and farts and all. It filled Merlin with a simmering warmth knowing that he was the only one that Arthur trusted enough to confide in like that.

Sometimes it amazed him, the connection they’d fostered during their acquaintance. For two people who were such polar opposites, they were now so in tune with each other that he and Arthur could have an entire conversation with just a look. Merlin supposed that Arthur being his destiny had a lot to do with that.

Merlin blinked away his reverie and stilled the restless motion of his hands over the exposed sheets. He set about laying a fire in the hearth to take the chill off the room. He was so accustomed to this routine that his body went about accomplishing it automatically, leaving his mind to roam free. Merlin grinned as he replayed the evening’s events in his head.

Arthur had been so happy when his father had shown such a keen interest in his anniversary. It had been the most alert and aware he’d seen Uther since Arthur had rescued him from Camelot’s dungeon. For one evening, Arthur had been able to relax and just enjoy the celebration.

Of course, the highlight of the evening for most people had been the knife throwing spectacle. It had been a great display of Arthur’s legendary courage. For the rest of the night, it was all the assembled guests could talk about as Merlin circulated around the room, catching snippets of conversation here and there.

Merlin did not share their enthusiasm. In fact, it had been the most tense he’d been all evening, on high alert in an effort to keep Arthur safe. Granted, everything had turned out fine; the Gleeman had indeed been a master at his craft. Merlin hadn’t had to tweak the dagger’s trajectory at all. Still, it had taken a while for his heart rate to lower to normal again; the thought of having to expose his magic in the middle of Arthur’s anniversary banquet with Uther and all the knights looking on had done nothing to help that cause. Despite Arthur’s frequent jokes to the contrary, Merlin truly didn’t have a death wish.

Peeking quickly around the room to make sure he was still alone, Merlin gave a quick glance into the hearth and lit the fire with his magic. The normal way took too long and he wanted the room to be comfortably warm when Arthur returned.

A chuckle burbled from Merlin’s lips as he thought of Arthur, full of drink, walking headlong into the pillar that separated the sleeping chamber from the main room. That chuckle became a snort as the picture of Arthur—blissfully unaware that he was about to walk out into the hallway with his trousers around his ankles—came to mind.

Merlin shook his head good-naturedly. Gods, he hadn’t seen Arthur that pissed in a very long time. Regardless of how much Merlin thought he might deserve the reprieve, now that Arthur was serving as Prince Regent, Merlin had standing orders to surreptitiously water down his wine after the second glass.

That thought had Merlin pausing mid-step. Closing his eyes, he played back the evening in his head, keeping track of how many times he’d filled Arthur’s glass.

Merlin’s breath caught as his eyes widened in realisation.

 _Five._ Five times that evening had Merlin filled Arthur’s cup. And Arthur had imbibed his two full-strength glasses during the meal, which meant that he’d been drinking the watered-down wine for the rest of the evening. Yet, Arthur was acting as if he’d drunk twice that much…and at full strength.

There was no logical explanation for Arthur to have been as impaired as he was.

_Something was wrong._

He could feel it in his bones. Merlin had experienced this particular brand of shiver down his spine too many times to discount its veracity.

Quickly, Merlin mentally switched gears into protection mode, trying to fathom out the crucial piece of intel he was missing. Merlin knew that Arthur’s food hadn’t been tampered with, for he’d checked every plate set before Arthur and his magic had found nothing. He also knew that no one else would have _dared_ to refill Arthur’s glass when Merlin was around. The other servants had long since learned that, while Merlin might grouse and complain mightily about being Arthur’s manservant, Merlin actually took his service to the Prince quite seriously.

“When?” Merlin muttered aloud, pacing back and forth across the antechamber agitatedly. “What did I miss?”

It was glaringly obvious once he’d realised it. _The apple_. The apple the Gleeman had stuffed into Arthur’s mouth as a target. That _had_ to be it. It was the only thing that had touched Arthur’s lips that Merlin hadn’t checked.

Merlin was already moving hurriedly toward the door as he asked himself urgently, _Poison? No… Arthur didn’t show any of the classic signs. Drugged, however? Almost certainly. It’s the only thing that makes sense._ If the apple had been drugged, then Arthur was most definitely in danger. Terrified by the thought, Merlin broke into a flat out sprint toward the king’s chamber.

Merlin skidded to a halt as he rounded the corner that led to Uther’s suite. The guards posted at the entrance were sprawled upon the floor, their bodies lying unnaturally still. Merlin knew before he even checked that they were dead, for he could not feel the life sparks within them.

Panicked that he might already be too late, Merlin called out desperately, “Arthur!” as he scurried around the corner into Uther’s chambers.

The sight that greeted him shocked him to his core.

Tears dripped from Arthur’s cheeks and nose onto his father’s hair as he held him close. One hand supported the King’s head while the other pressed tightly over the gash in his father’s chest, wounded by a blade meant for Arthur. Arthur tried very hard not to think about the warm, slick lifeblood slipping between his fingers.

More than anything, he felt helpless, and that was not a feeling that Arthur was accustomed to. He’d stopped calling for help once his sluggish brain realised that the guards stationed outside his father’s chambers must be either dead or incapacitated. Sheer horror and adrenaline were the only things keeping Arthur from succumbing to the sedative that he realised must have been on the apple that the assassin had shoved in his mouth earlier.

Cradling his father’s now unconscious body to him, Arthur allowed the sobs he’d been holding back to escape, his breath coming in great gasps, shivering as he started to succumb to shock.

His fault. This was all his fault. The assassination attempt had been meant for him. It should have been _his_ lifeblood spilling onto the stone floor, not his father’s.

Another sob burst from Arthur’s lips. Gods, he was not ready...not ready to be king. He couldn’t do it; not now, not yet!

As if from far away, Arthur heard his name. He wanted to lift his head, wanted to acknowledge the sound, but he couldn’t. It was as if his body had separated itself from his mind.

“Arthur!” he heard again, but he still was unable to react to it. And then familiar fingers were upon his jaw, turning his head and a pair of terrified blue eyes met his own.

_Merlin. Thank the gods…_

It wasn’t until he registered that Merlin was shaking his arm that he tuned in to what was being said to him.

“…Arthur, just breathe. Come on, look at me. You’re all right…Come on, Arthur!”

It was the urgent tone in Merlin’s voice that brought Arthur back to himself. Shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, he sucked in a shuddering breath and raised his bloody hand to clasp it over Merlin’s, holding it fast on his forearm.

“Merlin…” Arthur croaked, his throat so hoarse that it felt as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. “Arthur...I’m going to go and get some help.” He reached over and dragged the assassin’s fallen sword toward them. Placing it within Arthur’s reach he said, “Will you be all right?”

Arthur’s eyes strayed down to his father’s face. It was so, so pale and his chest hardly moved at all…

“Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes,” he rasped.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay safe, Arthur.”

Retreating footsteps heralded Merlin’s departure. With Merlin gone, time seemed to stop. Arthur felt so out of touch that he couldn’t even be sure he was breathing. If another assassin had arrived, Arthur doubted he could have even lifted his head, let alone a sword. It was beyond frustrating and more than a little terrifying to be so exposed, so vulnerable. But he had to trust that Merlin would not have left him if he’d felt Arthur were in any real danger.

Arthur blinked rapidly several times, trying to focus…trying to stay awake. He watched the tiny labored movements of his father’s chest in anguish and registered the trickle of wet warmth seeping through his fingers and dripping onto his leg. And then, after what was probably minutes but felt like hours, Merlin returned.

“Arthur…” Merlin said, an urgent tone to his voice, “can you tell me what happened?”

Arthur glanced toward the spot where the assassin’s body still lay. “He…tried to…and I…I fought him, but I couldn’t…so tired…but then Father, he…he…” Arthur stuttered, his memories coming to him in quick flashes. “He killed him, Merlin. But he…a knife…and…”

Merlin nodded grimly. “I understand.”

Merlin’s calm, no-nonsense voice pierced through the haze that had thickly settled over Arthur’s senses. “Gwaine, Leon? Help me get His Majesty onto the bed. We need to prepare him for Gaius.”

Then, Merlin asked, “Are you sure”—grunt—“we can”—another grunt—“trust them?” Dimly, Arthur realised that the rustling and grunting he heard must have been Merlin stripping the sheet and blankets from the bed.

“Quite sure, Merlin,” Sir Leon responded confidently. “I’ve known Sir Owain and Sir Eldridge since we were all squires. They can be trusted to be discreet.”

“Good.” Merlin’s voice was filled with grim satisfaction. “And you’ve sent a patrol after the rest of the troupe?”

“Yes,” came Gwaine’s reply. “It should overtake their caravan by morning.”

“Perhaps then we will have some answers,” Sir Leon responded. “I’d like to have something to tell the Council.”

“Don’t,” Merlin said, his voice sharp and authoritative in a way Arthur had rarely heard. “Don’t tell them anything yet. In fact, I think we should keep as many details of the attack as we can quiet.”

“Why?” Leon asked, confused.

“Because we don’t yet know who was behind it,” Merlin reasoned. “And after Morgana’s treachery, I don’t think we can afford to overlook the possibility that it could be someone from inside Camelot…even someone inside the royal family.”

“You can’t be suggesting…” Leon scoffed. “He’s Arthur’s uncle!”

“And Morgana was his sister,” Merlin replied stubbornly, “but it didn’t stop her.”

“So because of that you think that this plot was formulated by Lord Agravaine? That borders on treason, Merlin.”

“I’m not _suggesting_ anyone,” Merlin responded testily. “I’m simply saying that it might be prudent to not assume anything until we have more facts.”

“Come on, you two…there’s nothing to argue about,” said Gwaine, playing the voice of reason. “You’re both on the same side, remember?”

After a moment of tense silence, Leon said penitently, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Merlin; I know you are speaking out of concern for Arthur.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said solemnly. “I really am.” There was a pause, and then… “Can you two manage the king?”

“Of course,” Gwaine responded. “Leon? Why don’t you grab the king’s head, and I’ll carry his legs.”

Arthur felt hands trying to grasp under his father’s arms and feebly tried to push them away. “No…” he gasped, “leave him alone…”

The tugging stopped.

“What’s wrong with him, then?” Gwaine’s voice asked with concern.

“I’m pretty sure he was drugged,” Merlin explained, his voice coming closer to Arthur. “It’s a miracle he’s alive, really. Thank the gods for Uther being here.”

“And for being well enough to protect him,” Sir Leon agreed.

Arthur felt the heat emanating off Merlin’s body as he crouched down next to him. Then there was a light touch at his shoulder, a hand coming to rest on his upper arm.

“Arthur?”

Forcing his heavy head upward on a neck that felt limp and rubbery, Arthur met Merlin’s cerulean gaze blearily.

“It’s all right,” Merlin’s voice said as his fingers rubbed a soothing pattern onto his bicep. “You can let go of your father now. They’re just going to move him…make him more comfortable.”

The next time Arthur felt the pulling sensation, he allowed his father to slip from his grasp. Raggedly, Arthur sucked in a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his hair just as Merlin protested sharply, “No, don’t!”

Arthur pulled his still-moist hand away from his head as if he’d been burned. “Huh? Wha?” he mumbled, barely coherent.

Merlin released a long, mournful sigh. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s fine.” Arthur let his eyes drift closed and he rested his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. He drifted toward sleep in the milliseconds before Merlin shook him back awake. “Wake up, Arthur.”

There was a muted _pop_ and then Arthur felt a glass bottle being pressed into his hand. “Drink this,” Merlin said urgently. “It will help counteract the sedative.”

Woodenly, Arthur raised the bottle to his lips and drank. A shudder of revulsion ran through him from the absolutely disgusting taste. “Ugh!”

Merlin’s wuffle stirred the hair along Arthur’s temple. “Tastes bad but it works,” he agreed with a hint of wry amusement. “You’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“Merlin?” Gaius’ concerned voice echoed in the antechamber of the king’s chambers before...

“Merlin!” the elderly man breathed, and then Arthur felt another set of hands on him, prodding at him. “Arthur! Are you all right?”

Arthur tried to figure out how to make his lips move so he could form a reply. Thankfully, Merlin answered for him.

“He’s fine, Gaius.” Merlin’s voice sounded harried. “Or he will be. It’s _Uther_ you need to worry about right now.”

Gaius groaned as he pushed to a stand and then gasped, “Uther! By the Gods…what happened, Merlin?”

“He was protecting Arthur,” was Merlin’s grim reply.

“But all the…?”

“Not Arthur’s,” Merlin replied, cutting off whatever the physician meant to say. “Gaius?”

“Hmmm?” Gaius voice sounded gravelly and distracted.

“Did you bring my cloak?”

“Oh…yes.” There was a rustling sound and Arthur felt a brush of rough material graze his face as it was passed from Gaius to Merlin. “What did you want it for?”

“The less people that see _this_ the better,” Merlin replied cryptically.

After a moment, Gaius’ spoke from further away, his voice tight but all business. “All right, gentlemen…make room so that I may attend to His Majesty...”

“Arthur?” Again, Merlin’s voice prodded at his fuzzy-headedness. Arthur rolled his forehead against the bony protrusion of Merlin’s collarbone, hoping the movement would help clear his mind. He felt Merlin’s other hand grasp him at the armpit. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Dunno…” Arthur slurred, frankly impressed that he got the word out at all.

“Come on, Princess,” he heard in his other ear as another set of hands grabbed Arthur’s other arm and slung it over a broad shoulder. “Up you get.”

And then suddenly, Arthur’s body became more vertical than horizontal…and if he could ever figure out how to lock his knees, he _might_ just stay that way.

“Here…Gwaine…” Merlin said and an arm reached across Arthur’s back for a moment. There was a shuffling noise, then, “Yeah, just open… yeah,” and then Arthur felt something being draped around his shoulders.

“You got ‘im?” Gwaine asked softly, and Merlin ducked his head underneath Arthur’s arm and made sure it was securely across his shoulders. He grabbed Arthur tightly by the wrist with one hand and grasped around Arthur’s waist with the other.

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Merlin replied with a grunt. “Can you tie the…?”

“On it,” Gwaine interrupted and Arthur felt what was probably Merlin’s cloak being secured around his neck with a soft tug and the cowl being pulled up to practically cover his face. Arthur felt himself sway dangerously and then a set of hands pressed against his chest, steadying him.

“You sure you don’t want help, Merlin?”

Arthur predicted the answer before he heard it, knowing his manservant was stubborn to the last. “I’m stronger than I look, Gwaine!” he hissed and hiked Arthur’s dead weight more fully onto his shoulders.

“If you say so…” Gwaine drawled dubiously.

“C’mon Arthur…let’s get you back to your room,” Merlin coaxed, yanking on Arthur’s shoulder until one of his feet moved of its own volition to keep from toppling over.

Finally, _finally_ Arthur felt the fog inside his brain starting to lift…just enough to realise…

“Wait, no…my father…” he rasped, trying to glance over his shoulder at an awkward angle so that he could look back at the bed.

“Later,” Merlin said, firmly enough to make Arthur turn and meet his eyes. “Gaius has to examine him now and we’ll only be in his way. We can get you changed in the meantime.”

Arthur grudgingly nodded his head as they shuffled forward another step.

Admittedly it was a bit of a struggle, but Merlin was able to manhandle Arthur from the king’s chambers to his own without detection. Of course, that was only because he’d used the servant’s entrances and had covered Arthur with his cloak. The last thing Merlin wanted was for _anyone_ to see Arthur in the condition he was in.

The amount of blood on Arthur’s tunic and breeches alone was disturbing, but when one added in the rust-coloured smudges on his hands, face, and streaked through his hair, he was truly a macabre sight. Merlin just wanted to get Arthur out of those clothes and cleaned up before he’d recovered from the shock enough to realise what that much blood being on _him_ meant for the survival chances of his father.

“Here,” Merlin said, as he directed Arthur toward the wooden chair behind his desk near the window. _Wood, I can clean…_

Arthur tried lurching in the opposite direction. “Mmph…bed…” he mumbled, raising a hand out toward his preferred destination.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled it back down to his side, using it to pivot the prince around the side of the table. “No, Arthur. I want to get you bathed and changed before you sit anywhere else.”

Arthur’s bleary, red-rimmed eyes focused on Merlin’s face with difficulty, but it was obvious by the expression on the prince’s face that he was barely holding back tears of anguish.

A significant look passed between them. “All right,” Arthur finally agreed, his voice emotionless and almost too quiet. His weight dropped heavily into the armchair and he slumped down in misery.

Merlin was desperate to give the prince whatever respite he could. “I had a bath drawn for you, Arthur,” he fibbed as he crossed the room to where the empty tub sat. “Let me just check the temperature and then we’ll get you into it…”

With his back to Arthur and half hidden by the privacy screen, Merlin raised his hand over the empty tub. He whispered, “ _Cuman wæter,_ ” and then it was there, sloshing slightly against the sides of the container. Merlin trailed two fingers through it and thought, “ _Hæte,_ ” again and again until the temperature was perfect.

Merlin crossed the room and efficiently began untying the strings on Arthur’s tunic while his neck rested against the backrest limply. “Let’s get this off you, then,” Merlin said as he tugged gently. Arthur dutifully shifted forward in the seat and lifted both arms as if he were a small child, allowing the shirt to slip off over his head. The soiled tunic was dropped to the floor out of Arthur’s line of sight before Merlin knelt to pull off the leather boots and socks.

“But…my father…”

“…is in the hands of the best physician in Camelot. Gaius will take good care of him, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded slowly, a tiny hitching breath escaping his clenched jaw as he blinked furiously.

Once Arthur was barefoot, Merlin helped him to stand, which to his relief, Arthur seemed mostly able to do on his own. The unlaced breeches and smalls under them were still tacky with blood and had to literally be peeled away from Arthur’s skin before gravity finished the job and the prince was able to step out of the ruined material.

Merlin blanched at the angry reddish smear across Arthur’s torso and hip and prayed that Arthur wouldn’t notice.

Thankfully, he didn’t. He was too busy trying to keep himself upright as Merlin guided him across the room.

Arthur hissed in satisfaction as he slid down into the oh-so-warm-but-not-quite-too-hot water. It was evident to Merlin from the stiffness of the prince’s shoulders that the numbing shock was starting to yield to survivor’s guilt and grief.

Stifling a sigh, Merlin pushed his sleeves up over his elbows and knelt on the floor behind Arthur. Normally, Merlin would chatter on during Arthur’s baths, content to cajole or annoy his friend out of his more sullen moods. But that wasn’t what Arthur needed tonight: tonight he needed Merlin’s comfort and support, and that’s what Merlin would give him.

So Merlin stayed solemn and silent as he dipped the washing cloth into the steaming water, and began kneading at Arthur’s shoulders with it, trying to release the tension wound tightly through the muscles. Once Merlin had felt the tight muscles release, he used the cloth to rub down Arthur’s right arm, taking care to remove all traces of Uther’s blood from the prince’s hand.

As much as Merlin wanted to press the issue, to get Arthur talking, he waited. He knew that the prince would confide in him sooner or later. When it came to the tough, life-altering stuff he always did. Merlin was halfway down Arthur’s left arm when Arthur slid down in the tub and rested his head against the side to stare unseeingly at the ceiling. “Why?” he asked finally, not looking at Merlin.

“Why what, Arthur?” he prodded softly, continuing with his gentle ministrations. His hand slid up the now-clean left arm to begin scrubbing soft circles over the prince’s heart…as if the motion itself could ease Arthur’s pain.

“Why me?” Arthur lolled his head in Merlin’s direction, his eyes filled with pain. “What have I done to make people want to kill me, Merlin?”

Merlin concentrated his eyes on the washing cloth as it slid a path down Arthur’s torso, erasing a wide reddish streak as it went. “Honestly?” he asked at last.

Arthur nodded wearily, looking as if he both dreaded the answer and needed it to breathe.

“Nothing more or less than being born as the sole heir of a very prosperous kingdom. Camelot is the jewel of Albion; the best of the best. And, because of that, it sometimes means that your father’s enemies wish to harm him through you,” Merlin answered, putting the cloth aside in favor of threading his wet fingers through Arthur’s hair.

Very gently, he massaged soap into the prince’s scalp, lingering on the task when Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s not you _personally_ , Arthur. Never think that. You are a good man; a brave and honourable one.”

Arthur sucked in a shuddering breath as a lone tear escaped the prison of his lashes to slide down his cheek. Merlin pretended not to notice, but couldn’t stop his fingers from sliding forward along Arthur’s jawline, sweeping the salty track away under the guise of removing another streak of blood from his face.

Merlin had so many things he wished he could tell Arthur in that moment: how sorry he was about what had happened, how very much he understood the feeling of his heart being flayed open by the pain, how he could truly empathise with the empty, echoing pangs of grief. However, even in his currently vulnerable state, Merlin knew Arthur could not bear to hear such tender emotions…and Merlin didn’t even know if he could have found the right words to express them if he tried.

Instead, Merlin let his touch brand all those feelings into the prince’s skin. He softly massaged at Arthur’s temples and forehead, let the backs of his fingertips brush over his cheekbones and down the long expanse of his neck, rubbed a soothing pattern near Arthur’s ear with his thumb, slow and mesmerizing.

Merlin’s hands silently gave Arthur what he most needed: reassurance, acceptance, and yes, love. That he loved Arthur did not come as a surprise to Merlin. The noble prince had earned Merlin’s steadfast devotion from the moment Arthur had taken his word to be true about Valiant’s enchanted shield. Over the years that emotion had grown and solidified into something much more all-encompassing than that. Merlin felt it with every heartbeat, and it grew with every breath. Even if Kilgharrah had not told him, by now he would have known: they truly were two halves of a whole, better together than apart.

He _belonged_ with Arthur, just as Arthur belonged with him in a way that not even Gwen could compete with. And for now at least, knowing that was enough.

Arthur allowed Merlin’s soft ministrations as the gracefully slender fingers grazed his skin over and over, feeling almost powerless against the heady frisson his caresses invoked. His soul drank in the attention like parched earth, basked in its purity and light. More tears slipped from Arthur’s eyes unawares, as if his grief was being exorcised from him, pulled from him drop by drop as if by magic. Merlin soothed each salty streak away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

After several minutes, Arthur opened his eyes to find Merlin’s face hovering just inches above his own. Their gazes connected and held, countless conversations being held in that one glance. At that moment, Arthur had never felt so grateful for his friend’s presence in his life. “Thank you,” he whispered at last, his voice full of emotions he dare not name.

Merlin, as he always did, seemed to know _just_ what Arthur needed. He smiled slightly, squeezed Arthur’s shoulder briefly and then pushed from his knees to stand. He pulled the privacy screen open and stepped around it to give Arthur some time to gather his thoughts as Arthur had known he would.

“I’m just going to lay out some new clothes for you,” his disembodied voice said, and the rustle of clothing being unfolded and shaken out was just loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“All right.” Arthur was pleased to find his words were no longer slurred, and that his head felt clearer at last. “Don’t take too long, then. I want to get back to my father as soon as possible.”

Merlin’s head peeked back around the side of the screen. Arthur noticed that while the cheeky smile he knew so well had slid back into place, it did not quite reach his eyes. “Ready when you are, Sire.”

Dawn was nearly breaking by the time Merlin and Arthur rejoined Gaius in Uther’s chambers. Arthur crossed the room in quick strides, placing a hand on the physician’s shoulder to pull him from his distracted vigil. “What news on my father?” Arthur breathed, casting an anxious glance toward the bed where Uther lay, still as death and nearly as ashen.

The utter grief and desolation he saw on Gaius’ face as it tilted up toward him felt like a physical blow. Gaius placed a hand over Arthur’s own is if to lend him strength as he answered. “Not good, I’m afraid. The wound is too deep. There is nothing I can do.”

“No!” Arthur gasped, yanking his hand away is if it had been burned. “No…there must be…there must be _something_ …”

Gaius stood slowly, as if every one of his body parts ached. He raised his face and met Arthur’s anguished stare. “The blade has touched his heart. I cannot cure him. I’m sorry, Arthur…but I am afraid that it is only a matter of time now.”

Arthur staggered backward as if he’d been slapped and Merlin clapped a hand to his forearm to keep him upright before pushing him into the chair that Gaius had vacated.

“I’ll…give you some time alone,” Gaius said with a respectful bow in Arthur’s direction, his voice full of sympathy and regret. Gaius gave Merlin a meaningful look and then nodded surreptitiously toward the door. Merlin took the hint and started to follow his mentor out of the room…only to be stopped by the gentle grip of Arthur’s hand on his wrist.

“Stay…” Arthur said, the word was almost a command before he added, “…please.” Merlin got the distinct impression that Arthur felt as lost as he sounded in that moment. “I mean, I know you’ve just been up all night with me, but…”

“Yeah, okay,” Merlin said, cutting off what he was sure would have been a long and awkward request. He directed a nod at Gaius, who accepted it with a soft smile and let himself out of the King’s chambers.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur offered as Merlin dragged a chair from behind the King’s desk and settled it next to Arthur’s at the King’s bedside.

“Don’t be,” Merlin reassured him even as he stifled a yawn against the back of his hand. Arthur gave him a guilty, anguished look. Correctly interpreting the expression, Merlin reassured him. “I’m fine, Arthur. Really I am.” He plopped himself into the chair that he’d inadvertently settled too close to Arthur’s and felt a fleeting flash of heat when his whole left arm slid against the prince’s. “Besides, I don’t want you to feel that you are alone.”

Arthur glanced up, surprised by the earnest tone in his friend’s voice. “Thank you, Merlin…” he said, just as solemnly. After a long, wordless moment of their eyes connecting and communicating, Arthur slumped forward to put his head in his hands, fingers tugging at his golden hair in frustration and denial. “This can’t be happening…He can’t die like this… not because of me…”

“It’s _not_ because of you. He’s like this because of the assassin and whoever hired him. You are not to blame for what’s happened,” Merlin insisted.

Arthur scooted his chair forward so that he could sandwich his father’s hand between his own. “I’m so sorry, Father,” he rasped, his voice choked and hoarse. “I’m sorry that I failed you.”

Merlin put a reassuring hand on Arthur’s forearm, but said nothing.

While they sat, still and silent side by side, time inched forward. The sun was well over the horizon now and streaming in through the window behind them, warming their backs.

“Do you really think there is nothing Gaius can do?” Arthur eventually asked, his voice contemplative as he continued to stare at his father’s increasingly pale face.

Merlin stared at Arthur, startled by the question. What exactly was he implying? “Gaius is Uther’s _friend_ , Arthur. Surely if there was anything he felt he could do to save him, he would have done it,” he replied defensively.

The words hung in the air between them for several moments, and then: “Even magic?”

“What?” Merlin breathed, gobsmacked. His breath caught and heart pounded furiously in his chest. “Gaius…Gaius would _never_ …” he stuttered fearfully.

Arthur turned toward Merlin and quirked up one corner of his mouth ruefully. “It’s all right, Merlin; he’s in no danger from me. I know that before the Great Purge, Gaius practiced sorcery and gave it up willingly when magic was outlawed. My father told me as much when the Witchfinder was here.”

Merlin shivered at the thought of that evil, slimy man.

“What I want to know is, if Gaius _were_ allowed to practice his magic…do you think he could heal my father?”

“I..um…well…” Merlin began, trying desperately to determine what he could and couldn’t tell Arthur without giving himself away. “Well, it’s a very serious wound, isn’t it?” he said at last. “It would take a sorcerer of considerable power to heal such a wound, I would think. I don’t believe that Gaius ever held that kind of power, Arthur.”

“Then perhaps he knows someone who does?” Arthur’s eyes held Merlin’s beseechingly.

Merlin felt himself caving under the onslaught of Arthur looking so vulnerable. “But…magic is _illegal_ , Arthur,” he hedged, “and you hate magic!”

“Hate is such a strong word, Merlin. My father might hate magic, but I don’t, no matter how much he tried to instill that in me. Distrust it, certainly…but hate it in the way he does? No.”

“If you distrust it, then why would you want to risk it?” Merlin persisted.

Arthur shrugged uncomfortably. “What have I to lose if he’s to die anyway?” He paused, his eyes skittering away to glance at his father before meeting Merlin’s intent gaze again. “And if…if someone _can_ heal him…” He squared his shoulders as if he were about to go into battle. “Then that would prove that my father is wrong about magic…or at least about _some_ of it. Because any power that could heal such a grievous wound could not be as inherently evil as he believes it to be.”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Arthur cut him off, his voice suddenly small and miserable, “Oh, who am I trying to fool? If Gaius cannot help him, then my father is surely doomed; for what sorcerer in their right mind would be willing to heal the person that would see them hanged or burnt at the stake?”

 _You’d be surprised…_ Merlin thought wryly. “It can’t hurt to ask,” he encouraged gently.

Shaking his head in denial, Arthur began, “Merlin…” but Merlin cut _him_ off this time.

“In fact, I’ll go and speak to Gaius right now and then fetch us some breakfast.” He got up and hustled toward the door before Arthur could disagree.

Not that he didn’t try. “Merlin…” he said, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard across the room.

Merlin didn’t even break his stride as he yanked open the chamber door. “Be back soon, Arthur…” and he ducked through it and into the hallway.

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed at him as loud as he dared, but he knew it was futile. Merlin would not come back until he’d done what he set off to do. Ruefully, Arthur sighed, “Idiot…”

After a long and stressful evening, Sir Leon stifled a yawn against his hand as he climbed the main steps into the Citadel. He’d just received word that the patrol that was sent to intercept the circus troupe had been successful, and he was going to the dungeons to meet Gwaine for the interrogations.

He was just rounding the corner heading toward the armoury when he heard his name being called. Leon turned to find Arthur’s uncle Lord Agravaine scurrying up the corridor toward him. Once he’d caught up to Leon, the man heaved for a moment as if he were a bit out of breath.

“Sir Leon, do you know where I might find Arthur?” Agravaine asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I cannot seem to locate him _or_ his manservant this morning…”

“I…” Leon began, intent on filling him in on all that had occurred, but suddenly Merlin’s warning from the night before echoed in his head and he reluctantly changed his sentence midstream, “believe the prince may be visiting with the king, Lord Agravaine. He took ill late last evening after the feast.”

Agravaine raised his eyebrows in obvious interest. “Oh? The king is unwell? Perhaps I should pay him a visit, then…”

If Leon hadn’t been studying Lord Agravaine so closely, he would have missed how his lips twisted from a polite smile to something infinitesimally more sinister for just a second before settling back into again.

Something about Lord Agravaine’s minute reaction to the news bothered Leon, although he could not put his finger on just what it was. It did not appear that the King’s brother-in-law was any the wiser about what had _actually_ occurred last evening, yet his words of condolence did not completely ring true, either; not with the way he had smiled.

While Sir Leon did not enjoy keeping secrets from and lying to members of the Royal Court, he could see now that Merlin’s caution made sense. Were the truth to come to light later on, surely Lord Agravaine would understand Leon’s reasoning; it was his job to protect the king, after all, and that’s what he was doing now.

“I do not believe that would be wise, My Lord. Gaius has proclaimed the malady to be of a highly infectious nature. He has closed off the room to all but just the Prince, his manservant, and himself…all of whom have already been exposed,” Leon explained.

Agravaine wrinkled his nose in distaste and nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Sir Leon. I shall speak with Arthur another time, then.”

Leon nodded and was about to walk away when Agravaine continued, “And what has you up so early in the morning after such a festive celebration last eve?”

Again, there was no real reason for the tendril of suspicion that Leon felt creeping up his spine, but he’d been a knight for too many years to ignore what his instincts told him.

“With Arthur effectively quarantined, I am taking over training of the recruits this morning,” he dissembled. He pointed to the armoury door and explained, “I was just about to get myself some gear.”

Agravaine nodded distantly, as if his mind were already elsewhere. “Ah, yes…makes perfect sense. Carry on, then.”

Leon waited several moments for Agravaine to walk away and he could no longer hear his footfalls before he turned and headed in the opposite direction toward the dungeons. He didn’t quite know what to make of Lord Agravaine, but he intended to watch him more closely from now on.

“Gaius?” Merlin called softly as he opened the door to their chambers. His mentor was seated at the table with his back to the door, head held wearily between two hands. Gaius’ grief was obvious in the slump of his shoulders. Merlin was quick to remember that Uther was not just a king to Gaius, but also a friend of sorts…or at least as much of a friend as Uther could be to _anybody_.

The physician startled and then turned his head to look at Merlin just as he shut the door behind himself. “Merlin,” he breathed, surreptitiously rubbing at his damp eyes with the heel of one hand, “what are you doing here? How is Arthur? I thought he wanted you to stay?”

“He did,” Merlin nodded, crossing the room to sit in his usual spot across the table from Gaius. “But he asked me if I could speak to you about a rather…personal matter.”

“What matter is that?”

“Arthur asked me to ask you if you knew anyone who could heal his father,” Merlin offered, not looking Gaius. Instead, he watched his own index finger as it drew lazy circles on the rough-hewn wood.

Gaius let out a long, mournful sigh. “Merlin…do you not think that if there was anything that could be done that I would have…”

Merlin cut off Gaius’ diatribe. “…with magic,” he finished, raising his eyes to meet his mentor’s.

“ _Magic!?_ ” he breathed. Predictably, Gaius’ eyes widened in utter astonishment…and then narrowed with suspicion. “Merlin…please tell me you are not thinking what I _think_ you’re thinking…”

Merlin shoved out of his chair and started to pace. “You weren’t there, Gaius. You didn’t hear him! He blames himself for what happened to Uther. If he dies, Arthur will always believe himself responsible.”

“But Arthur is not to blame,” Gaius replied reasonably.

“I told him that, too, but he won’t listen,” Merlin answered as he continued to pace anxiously. “I’ve never heard Arthur talk about magic like this before. He said that he didn’t hate it; just that he’s never been given a reason to trust it. This is it, Gaius. This is my chance!”

“Your chance for _what_? To earn yourself a death sentence?” Gaius demanded, his voice harsh with emotion, his eyes terrified for his ward.

Merlin shook his head impatiently. “No. This is my chance to finally be honest, to tell Arthur the truth about me. I can help Uther, Gaius; I know I can.”

“No, Merlin…it’s too dangerous!” he insisted urgently.

“I…thought you’d be happy. I thought you liked Uther? You don’t really want him to die, do you?”

“Yes, I would consider Uther a friend of a kind…but you are like a _son_ to me, Merlin. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

“But you don’t understand,” Merlin said with fierce, determined eyes, grasping one of Gaius’ hands across the table. “I _have_ to do this! You don’t know how awful it has been to have to keep lying to Arthur day after day, year after year, letting him think he knows all there is to know about me when what he thinks he knows is really a lie. The lies have gone on long enough. Arthur deserves the truth and I want to give it to him and _damn_ the consequences!”

The fire went out of Merlin’s voice then, and he shrank visibly in on himself. “If we are to truly be friends, then he needs to know all of me. I just want Arthur to accept me for who I really am, Gaius.”

Gaius gave Merlin’s hand a squeeze. “I know you do, Merlin. But it’s too dangerous. Magic is still outlawed. Telling him could get you killed.”

“Well, that’s a chance that I’m willing to take,” Merlin declared petulantly. “Besides, I refuse to believe that of Arthur. Arthur might be livid with me, he might feel betrayed, he might hate me, but he won’t have me killed, Gaius. He’s too good a man for that. Banished, perhaps, but not executed.”

“Are you really willing to stake your life on that?”

Merlin notched his chin up higher. He knew Arthur better than anyone else, save the prince himself. “Yes.”

“But Merlin…even if Arthur does accept you, you must know that healing Uther with magic is suicide.”

“Not necessarily. He doesn’t have to know.”

Gaius gave Merlin a deadpan look. “And how exactly do you mean to convince the king that his mortal wound wasn’t exactly so mortal after all?”

“Well, he believed us when you told him that the water from the Cup of Life that healed Arthur was actually Lobelia Tincture,” Merlin countered. “I’m sure that between us, we can come up with something he will believe.”

“But…”

One of Merlin’s hands slashed through the air to cut off Gaius’ argument. “Arthur is my _best friend_ , Gaius! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t at least _try_ to help save his father? And besides, if I could heal Uther, then it would prove to Arthur once and for all that magic isn’t evil. It could change everything…for all of us with magic.”

Gaius pursed his lips as if he’d just eaten a lemon. "You could also end up on the chopping block.”

While Merlin shrugged as if unaffected, but the wild-eyed look on his face betrayed his fear. “I am Arthur’s to command. Always have been. If he asks it of me, I will do it.”

Gaius shook his head sadly. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Merlin,” he warned.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders and gave his mentor a wry smile. “I’ve been playing a dangerous game since the day I stepped foot in Camelot.”

“Nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it?” Gaius asked, his voice rueful and resigned.

“Afraid not,” Merlin agreed gently, squeezing the physician’s hand.

Gaius pushed himself to a tremulous stand. “Well, if you’re determined to do this, then I’d better find you the _right_ healing spell, hadn’t I?”

Merlin jumped up and flung his arms around his mentor. “Oh, thank you, Gaius!”

The old man waved him off self-consciously. “If you’re serious about this, then you’d better get moving. There isn’t much time left.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “How much time?”

“A day, perhaps two, if he lingers.”

Merlin frowned.

Agravaine entered the royal stables, smiling politely as he noticed the groom leading out his already-saddled horse. He’d only been in Camelot for a few months, but he already had his dedicated staff well-trained.

It was well known that when Sir Agravaine was not on patrol or meeting with the Council, he took a constitutional ride each morning at precisely half-eight. He would leave through the western gate, be gone approximately two hours and return before the midday meal. As he was just as habitual and punctual in his other habits, no one thought twice about his choice in exercise.

Of course, his otherwise unremarkable and predictable behaviour also provided him with the perfect front for when he wanted to travel to a certain hovel located in the depths of the Darkling Woods. Like today, for example.

About a half hour later, Agravaine arrived at a nondescript part of the wood, dismounted and led his mount to a nearby stream, tying his reins to a sapling. This allowed his steed access to both the cool water and the tender shoots of grass that grew near the water’s edge. Giving his horse and affectionate pat, he turned and trudged over a small rise, watching his step on the rocky terrain as he followed the small path that led to the abode.

Rapping twice with his knuckles against the aged wood of the door, Agravaine waited until he heard the sharp, clipped response, “Enter.”

“Good morning, my Lady,” Agravaine greeted Morgana, bowing low over her outstretched hand.

Morgana snatched her hand back from him and began to pace agitatedly. “Have you news?”

Agravaine nodded. “As you know, last eve was Arthur’s anniversary celebration.”

“And how fares my _dear brother_?” Morgana hissed.

“There was a celebration held in his honour. Even the king attended.”

“ _Did_ he?” Morgana knew well through Agravaine’s reports that Uther’s mental affliction kept him to his rooms on most days and that Arthur had taken over as Regent. It was the main reason Agravaine had been called into service, after all.

“Yes, my Lady. He seemed to enjoy himself well. Especially the spectacle of the knife throwing demonstration. Prince Arthur was used as the target, you see.”

Morgana sneered as she turned away to stir something in the cooking pot over the hearth. “Pity that the man was well-skilled. Mayhap you should have bribed him to miss.”

“I hardly think anyone could be bribed handsomely enough to commit regicide in the middle of the Great Hall in front of the king and all of the knights!” Agravaine blustered, stung by the implication that he wasn’t doing enough to ensure their victory over Uther. “It would be like signing a death warrant.”

“More’s the pity. Tell me again why this is news?” Morgana snapped at Agravaine waspishly.

“Because the king has taken ill.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sometime in the night after the feast.”

“And is it serious?”

“Sir Leon did not go into much detail, although he did say that the king had been quarantined. Not even his own manservant may attend him. Only Gaius, Arthur and Arthur’s manservant are allowed to enter the sickroom, as they were exposed last eve.”

“Let us hope the illness is virulent, then. I wouldn’t mind being rid of the lot of them.”

Morgana snorted and nodded her chin at the door in a not-subtle hint. “Be sure to keep me informed. We may yet be able to use it to our advantage.”

Not wanting to overstay his welcome with his moody mistress, Agravaine took the hint. “Of course, my Lady.”

Agravaine sketched a bow and left, heaving a sigh of relief. Morgana Pendragon was as dangerous as she was beautiful and he was simultaneously attracted to her and terrified of her. But if he could only make himself indispensable to her…perhaps in time he could become consort to the next Queen of Camelot.

Arthur had no idea how much time had passed before Merlin returned, laden down with what appeared to be enough food to feed ten knights. Eyes widened, he exclaimed, “Merlin, who are you planning to feed with all of that!?”

Merlin shrugged sheepishly as he carefully set the tray on Uther’s table. “Well, since we decided to keep what really happened last night to ourselves, the household has been told that the King took ill overnight. Cook thought that, since the King was feeling ‘under the weather’, she would send up some of his favourites…”

Arthur’s eyes drifted past Merlin to focus on the tray, his eyes growing over-bright with unshed tears. His gaze skittered back to Merlin’s face before he squared his shoulders as if about to go into battle. “I should probably go down and inform the Council…”

“You should do no such thing,” Merlin interrupted. “Your place is here, with your father.”

“But…the assassin…”

“Sir Leon and Sir Gwaine have the investigation well in hand. They will report directly to you when they have news.” Merlin walked around the table and pulled out a chair. “In the meantime, you need to eat.”

Arthur turned his face back toward the bed in despair. “I’m not hungry.”

Merlin shook his head before walking across the room and pulling Arthur up from the bedside chair bodily. “You are not helping your father by starving yourself, Arthur. Come and eat.”

Arthur sighed but allowed himself to be manhandled over to his father’s dining table and shoved down into one of the well-cushioned chairs.

Without being told, Merlin portioned out food from the platter onto both their plates and then seated himself across the table from Arthur. His heart was pounding, his palms felt clammy, and he felt dangerously close to vomiting…yet his determination to make things right between them kept him from wavering from his chosen course.

Arthur?” Merlin began tentatively.

Arthur swallowed his mouthful of sausage before he responded. “Yes?”

Merlin looked down at his plate and pushed the food around with one long finger. “I spoke to Gaius. About what we talked about earlier.”

“And?” The fragile hope that glimmered in Arthur’s eyes stabbed painfully at Merlin’s conscience.

“He…” Merlin had to pause to gather his nerve, “…it was as I’d feared. He does not possess power great enough to heal your father, even with magic.”

The light in Arthur’s eyes dimmed, and his whole body seemed to shrink in on itself.

Merlin could not keep the tremor out of his voice when he continued, “But there is someone he knows who does possess such power…”

Arthur sat up again and his eyes widened in shock. “What? Who? Does Gaius think they’d be willing to help us?”

Not trusting his voice in that moment, Merlin nodded.

“Oh, wait…It's not that dotty old man, is it? That Dragoon fellow? Because I can't imagine he’d help after almost being burnt at the stake…”

Tears stung Merlin’s eyes as he shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “It’s not him.”

“Then who? What other sorcerer would be daft enough to help a magic-hating king?”

Merlin took a deep, shuddering breath and half-whispered, “Me.”

The utensils Arthur had been eating with clattered onto his plate, fallen from the prince’s boneless fingers. Arthur stared at Merlin as if he’d just spoken a foreign language.

“What?” Arthur finally breathed.

Merlin had imagined what it might be like to confess his magic to Arthur countless times, but nothing could have prepared for him for the reality of actually _doing_ it. He swallowed around the huge lump in his throat and forced himself to continue. “I will try to heal your father for you. I can't guarantee it will work, but I will try my best.”

Arthur stared at Merlin for another long moment before shaking his head as if waking from a reverie. The gobsmacked expression he wore morphed into a more wistful one. He looked at Merlin askance and said doubtfully, “While I appreciate that you’ve learnt a lot about the healing arts from Gaius, surely if _he_ cannot save my father…”

Merlin’s breath hitched in his chest. “No, you misunderstand me,” he rasped, his voice gravelly from all the emotions that had been bottled up for so long. “I…I have magic.”

Arthur frowned. “Now is not the time for jokes, Merlin,” he reproached. “Not in the slightest.”

“I’m not joking!” Merlin insisted. “I really am a sorcerer!”

The exasperated look on Arthur's face made it clear that his patience was wearing thin with what he thought was more of Merlin's nonsense.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded to know. “You are _not_ a sorcerer, Merlin. I would know if you were.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over Merlin’s lashes and left wet trails on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he choked out. Merlin closed his eyes and reached his shaking hand toward the candelabra on the table, whispering, “ _Upastige Draca…_ ”

Arthur watched in astonishment as sparks from the candles drew together in the air to form the perfect shape of the dragon that adorned the Pendragon crest. It gleamed and sparkled for a moment before fading away as if it had never been.

Arthur shook his head as if to clear it. “No…” he whispered, stricken, “you _can’t_ be. You…you…”

The words petered out into horrified silence.

Merlin opened his eyes and tentatively reached a hand across the table, wanting to provide reassurance and comfort, but he flinched and retreated when Arthur shrank back from his touch.

“I’m still the same person I was a minute ago, ” Merlin reasoned, trying to keep his voice calm and steady even though his heart was pounding madly. “Nothing else has changed. I’m still your friend.”

Arthur tensed but said nothing in reply.

“You know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Yet, when Merlin looked up, he saw the additional pain etched on Arthur’s already grief-stricken face and realised that he already had. And then that pain and grief transformed, crystallised into a diamond-hardness in his eyes and razor sharpness to the set of his jaw.

“Do I, Merlin?” Icy fury filled every clipped word. “Do I really? Because it seems to me that I don’t know anything about you at all!”

With rising panic, Merlin watched Arthur’s hands slowly and deliberately grasp the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. Merlin had the distinct feeling that Arthur would rather have his fingers around Merlin’s neck instead.

“Arthur, please….” Merlin began, but Arthur’s furious words cut him off.

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up,” he hissed, knocking over his chair as he exploded to his feet.

Terror seized Merlin as Arthur stalked purposely toward the door of Uther’s chambers. _Oh, gods... He's calling the guards!_ he thought in a panic. _He's going to have me arrested!_

"Don't!" Merlin cried reflexively, his arm outstretched as if the motion alone could stop the prince.

Arthur threw a scathing glance at Merlin over his shoulder and then wrenched the door open.

"Yes, Sire?" Merlin heard one of the guards ask.

Without preamble, Arthur commanded, "Leave us, and do not return until I send for you."

Arthur slammed the door behind them and set the lock. Merlin’s sigh of relief was short-lived once Arthur turned back toward him. He looked positively murderous.

Merlin's eyes flickered toward the servant's entrance, mentally calculating whether he still had enough time to make an escape. _No, I am not going to run,_ he thought as he squared his shoulders. _I trust Arthur. He may stubborn and irrational when he’s angry, but he’s still a just and fair man. If I can survive this initial burst of anger, he'll see sense once he calms down._

The problem with that theory was that _Merlin_ was usually the one who provided Arthur with the voice of reason when he got like this. Without Merlin’s guiding hand to steady him, what would Arthur do? Merlin honestly didn’t know.

“You lied to me,” Arthur accused harshly.

“I…Yes.” Arthur’s declaration caught Merlin wrong-footed. While it was true, he’d expected Arthur to be more upset about the magic than the subterfuge he’d used to conceal it.

“You’ve been lying to me all this time.” Arthur’s anger cracked like a whip between them as he stalked across the room. “For _years_!”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, penitent. “I didn’t want to…”

“Acting as if you liked me. Pretending that you were my friend...”

“I wasn’t pretending!” Merlin defended, pushing himself to a stand as Arthur approached him. “I _am_ your friend!”

“You certainly have a funny way of showing it. I trusted you!” Arthur fumed, so close to Merlin now that his spittle landed on Merlin’s cheek. He gave the slighter man a shove to the chest that made him stumble back slightly. “A trust that was obviously misplaced,” Arthur said bitterly.

The words flayed Merlin’s conscience. There was nothing Merlin cherished more than Arthur's trust in him and the thought that he might have lost it forever was physically painful.

“So, you’ve been in hiding all these years: a sorcerer in Camelot and right under my father’s nose! In his own household! How you must have _delighted_ in the irony when he made you my manservant!”

Arthur crowded into Merlin’s personal space, which forced the warlock to shuffle backward again to give himself room to breathe.

“No, I didn’t! I hated it. If you recall, you weren’t exactly my favorite person back then,” Merlin huffed.

“And yet, you still saved my life.” Arthur’s voice rose in volume as his hands clenched into fists. “I suppose you used magic to do it?”

Merlin nodded, his eyes trained on the floor because he couldn't meet Arthur's incensed glare. “Yes.”

“Why?” Arthur bellowed. “A sorcerer saving me from another sorcerer...that makes no sense! Why the hell would you do that!?”

“Because no matter how much of a spoilt prat you were, you didn’t deserve to die because of something your father did! The fault was Uther’s, not yours.”

Arthur looked as if a thundercloud had settled on his brow. “‘My father’s fault...’ Oh, I see how it is! Is _that_ was this was all about?” Arthur waved his hand between them in emphasis. “Using me to get close to the king?” Arthur gave Merlin’s chest another vicious shove.

“No!”

“So, _this_ wasn’t your doing, then? Not part of some plot where you were the inside man?” Arthur demanded, backing Merlin up another step as he pointed toward his father’s sickbed imperiously.

Merlin’s eyes widened in shock. “What?” he asked, aghast. “No! Arthur, I would never!”

“Why not? Isn’t that what all sorcerers do?” he spat out. “Try to kill the King of Camelot?”

Indignantly, Merlin stood his ground. “No, they don’t. Look, I might not like the king's stance on magic... I hate it, in fact. But I’d never try and kill him. He’s your _father_.”

Arthur took another furious step toward him, forcing Merlin to retreat until he was backed into the wall. “Oh really, Merlin? How nice of you to notice. And it’s oh-so-convenient that you _happen_ to offer your help to me now as if there is no ulterior motive. Why don’t I believe you?”

"I don't know why, but you should!" Merlin’s chin inched upward defiantly. “Think about it! I've been by your side for years! I could have done something to you or your father at any time if I had wished it, but I didn't. So, why would I risk everything and reveal my secret to you now if not to help you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you just want to lull me into a false sense of security so you can finish the job.”

“Arthur, please...be reasonable. You're my friend; I could never do that to you!”

“As if I could ever trust the word of a _sorcerer_ ,” Arthur spat, and then in one fluid motion he drew the sword from his scabbard and held it to Merlin’s chest.

“You can! You can trust me,” Merlin vowed, raising his hands in acquiescence.

Yet, this sign of deference only made Arthur that much more irate. His sword poked a hole in Merlin’s tunic as the point pressed painfully against the skin over Merlin’s heart. “Liar! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just run you through where you stand!”

Merlin slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of Arthur. As he looked up at the man that was his soul's other half, his blue eyes shimmered with more unshed tears. Softly but vehemently, Merlin declared, “Because everything I’ve done has been for you, Arthur. For you and for Camelot. While it’s true that I’ve had to hide, had to deceive you to keep my secret, everything else you know about me is real.”

His voice filled with all the emotions he'd never been brave enough to say out loud. “I am still the same idiot who trips over his own feet and is too clumsy to wield a sword properly. I’m still the same servant that you have hurled goblets at and traded insults with and made muck out your stables. And I’m the same person who has stood by your side through everything, whether you wanted me to or not, because I believe in you.”

“I told you once that I was happy to be your servant until the day I died, and I meant that. Everything that I am—my heart, my soul, _and_ my magic—has been, and always shall be, yours to command.”

And then Merlin bowed his head in submission, awaiting Arthur’s judgment.

Arthur stared down at his manservant with incredulity. “Are you really just going to kneel there and let me lop off your head? You’re a sorcerer!” Arthur grabbed a handful of neckerchief and tugged at it so forcefully that it made Merlin’s head snap back and his teeth rattle. “Fight back, dammit!” he growled menacingly, sliding the blade up to kiss the pulsepoint in Merlin’s neck.

But Merlin simply looked up at Arthur with eyes full of sorrow and regret. “No. It is my destiny to serve you, Arthur.” Shaking his head, he vowed, “I will never raise a hand against you, even if it means my own death.” He lowered his head still further, shaking as he bared the back of his neck to the blade.

Arthur dropped his grip on Merlin’s neckerchief as if it burned. “Have it your way, then,” he snarled.

Merlin felt the sharp, cool edge of the blade settle against his skin and his heart pounded in anticipation. His magic flared to life under his skin, valiantly trying to protect him from harm, but Merlin pushed it back down fiercely.

He didn't want to hide anymore. He cherished Arthur’s friendship, but until now, he had never seen the real Merlin. He knew that Arthur knowing the truth was the only way to get the prince to accept him _and_ his magic. And Merlin wanted that desperately, for Arthur to see him as he really was and still want him in his life. So, as terrified as he was, Merlin was determined to see this course of action through to the end, even if the end meant his death.

 _A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole_ , Kilgharrah had once told him. With his life literally in Arthur’s hands, Merlin could only pray that the dragon was right.

After a long, tense moment of uncertainty, the stinging pressure at his neck retreated and Merlin heard the metallic clang of the sword as Arthur cast it aside with a muttered curse.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Merlin…get up! You look bloody ridiculous!” Arthur declared with more than a little exasperation. Then Merlin was unceremoniously hauled back to his feet by the armpits.

In shock from his close call, the sudden motion made Merlin stumble backward. He fought to keep his balance as his knees wobbled and his heart pounded in his ears. For the life of him, Merlin couldn't seem to figure out how to breathe again, let alone focus well enough to move his limbs the way Arthur obviously wanted him to.

Meanwhile, Arthur bent down to retrieve his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. Then he turned and stalked toward his manservant with a roll of his eyes.

“Come on,” Arthur hissed as he grasped Merlin roughly by the bicep and frog-marched him toward the servant’s entrance. “We are _not_ doing this _here_.” Arthur shouldered the door open and then pushed Merlin in front of him down the dark corridor.

“But...where are we…?” Merlin stammered in confusion as he almost tripped over his own feet again.

“Just shut up and bloody _move_!” Arthur demanded, his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck this time as if to force compliance with his wishes.

Merlin gave up trying to second guess Arthur’s intent. Instead, he tuned out and simply allowed the prince to direct his body wherever he wished. Therefore, he was more than a little surprised when their excursion ended at the door to Arthur’s own quarters.

“How did you…?” Merlin’s tongue tripped over the words before Arthur cut him off again.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur began, his voice positively dripping in sarcasm. He wrenched open the servant’s door and propelled Merlin inside his room. “You can’t honestly think that I never learned how to sneak out of my own chambers as a boy. I know every secret entrance and hidden passageway in this castle.”

“Oh. Right,” Merlin agreed stupidly, his brain still sluggish from the overload of adrenaline in his bloodstream.

"Sit down before you fall down, you idiot," Arthur grumbled, yanking a chair away from his dining table and shoving Merlin into it.

Merlin collapsed into the chair, still shaking like a leaf. He slumped forward and threaded his trembling fingers through his hair as he gulped in great lungfuls of air.

Arthur's lips compressed into a thin, disapproving line as he crossed his arms across his chest and raised one eyebrow in challenge. “Now,” he insisted as he seated himself in his usual chair, “you are going to sit there and tell me why your pea-sized brain _ever_ thought that learning magic was a _good_ idea,” Arthur demanded.

Merlin gaped like a fish out of water as he valiantly tried to re-engage his brain enough to answer.

“I’m waiting,” Arthur said impatiently.

 _Gods, where do I even start?_ “Er...um...well, you see…”

“ _Now_ , Merlin.”

Merlin startled at Arthur’s abrupt tone and then, with not a little irritation of his own, sat up ramrod straight and leveled a glare at Arthur. “Well, pardon me if it takes me more than a moment to gather my thoughts after what just happened, _Sire_.” Merlin used the title like it was an insult.

Then, with a sharp voice full of fear-driven sarcasm, Merlin snarked, “I’m sorry that I happen to find _almost being beheaded_ more than a little disconcerting. How silly of me!”

“Oh, for the love of…! Stop being so melodramatic, you great girl’s blouse! It’s not as if I would have actually done it!” Arthur blustered, looking affronted.

“Really? Well, you sure as hell could have fooled me!” Merlin huffed irritably.

Arthur’s droll look clearly broadcasted how dense he thought Merlin was. “That was the _point_ , Merlin! I was testing you.”

“Testing me!? Whatever for?”

“To see if I could really trust you. I had to know that you truly are as loyal as you say you were, even though you’re a sorcerer.”

“So threatening to kill me was the answer to that? You could have just asked!”

“No, Merlin...I couldn’t.” Arthur’s frustrated stare bored into his skull, as if trying to make Merlin understand by sheer force of will.

And then suddenly, Arthur’s meaning made sense.

Merlin had just confessed to having magic, to being everything that Arthur had been taught to fear and despise. He had broken Arthur’s trust by revealing that he’d been keeping something huge from the prince for years and had been lying to cover it up. Of _course_ Merlin would have to prove himself. Arthur could not afford to take his word at face value, not anymore, no matter how much he may have wanted to. There was too much at stake for him to be wrong.

“Oh,” Merlin replied meekly, staring at his hands twisting in his lap.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur agreed, giving Merlin a significant look. “Oh.”

“So you’re not angry, then?” Merlin asked hopefully.

“No, Merlin...I’m still angry,” Arthur assured him, and the steely flash in his eyes proved it. “ _Very_ angry. Livid, in fact. But, in deference to the loyalty you have always shown me in the past, I am also trying to give you a chance to explain yourself before deciding your fate.”

Merlin opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling to find the right words to say to make him understand.

As the silence grew deafening, Arthur quirked up one eyebrow and drawled in that entitled, prattish tone that always made Merlin want to punch Arthur’s stupid face, “So you might want to get on that, before I change my mind and throw you in the stocks. Permanently.”

And so, instead of appreciating the opportunity to explain that Arthur was giving him, what decided to come out of Merlin’s mouth in response was, “Sure you would. You haven’t thrown me in the stocks for years.”

But apparently Arthur had been expecting Merlin’s snarky retort, because he immediately drawled, “And _clearly_ that was to your detriment. Unless one too many potatoes to the head is what made you this daft?”

“I think spending too much time with _you_ is what made me this daft,” Merlin groused.

Arthur smirked triumphantly. “Well, at least we can agree that you’re daft.”

Merlin scowled. He hated when Arthur tricked him into saying silly or embarrassing things. He was about to tell Arthur how good he thought the prince might look with his donkey ears back, but luckily caught himself before it passed his lips.

It was, he thought ruefully, probably best to avoid drawing attention back to something that had very nearly got him killed only moments before. The fight had gone out of Arthur now, that much was clear, but the current truce between them was tenuous at best. Merlin didn’t want to say or do anything that might re-ignite the animosity.

At a loss to know what else to say, their small moment of shared levity slowly petered out into an awkward silence. It hovered in the space between them, stifling and painfully uncomfortable.

At last, Arthur sighed and said, "I don't understand you, Merlin.” He sounded bone-weary and sad, the ache of betrayal just as evident in his voice as it was seen on his face. “Why would you even _want_ to learn magic after all it has done to me, to my family, and to Camelot? I mean, knowing _you_ , I’m sure you thought you were helping in some strange, misguided way. But that still doesn't excuse breaking the law.”

Merlin pulled his legs up in front of himself on the chair and wrapped his arms around them miserably. “It's not what you're thinking at all, Arthur. I didn’t _choose_ to learn magic. I never got the chance to choose it because the magic chose me first. I was _born_ with it.”

Arthur looked as stunned as if Merlin had physically slapped him. “ _Born_ with magic? But I thought magic was something you learnt? Something people were taught?”

“For most sorcerers, that is true,” Merlin admitted. “But some people have magic whether they want it or not. Like me."

There was another long moment of silence while Arthur pondered what Merlin had told him.

“So you’ve always had magic?” Arthur asked, his eyes and voice a bit softer now.

Merlin nodded against his knees. “I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember. Mother said I could move objects with my mind before I could even talk.”

Arthur's eyebrows scrunched together in bewilderment. “Is that…unusual?”

“From what I’ve been told, it’s unheard of.”

Arthur shook his head. “Leave it to you to be the exception to every rule, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged self-consciously and sighed.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you would come to Camelot, of all places. Didn’t you know how dangerous that was for someone like you? If you’d ever been caught…" Arthur shuddered at the thought. "I mean, I’ve always known you were an idiot, but I would have thought that even _you_ had more self-preservation instincts than that!”

“As a matter of fact, I _didn’t_ know how things were in Camelot, though I found out quickly enough. I arrived in town just as your father was having Thomas Collins beheaded.”

Arthur winced. “That couldn’t have been a pleasant discovery.”

“Not particularly,” Merlin admitted. “I was accustomed to magic users being treated with fear and distrust, used to hiding my gifts. But for magic to actually be punishable by death…it was shocking and more than a little bit terrifying.”

“I can imagine. I’m surprised you didn’t just turn around and head back to Ealdor after that.”

“I couldn’t. Mother feared for my safety there as well. She had recently discovered that Will knew of my magic, and the thought terrified her. Because of the circumstances surrounding my birth, I was already looked upon with suspicion."

Arthur nodded solemnly and motioned for Merlin to continue.

"We kept to ourselves a lot when I was young. It was...lonely. But once I learned how to hide my gifts, things were better for a while, and I made a few friends, like Will. But once I reached puberty, my magic became a bit…unpredictable. It would act up if I became angry or upset. Strange things started happening when I was around, coincidences that became harder and harder to explain. It was best I left before anyone else riddled me out.”

“Gaius was an old family friend. He was like an uncle to my mother when she was young. And, what was more, she knew that he used to practice magic. She had hoped that he would be able to teach me the discipline to better control mine.”

 _“I just didn’t fit in anymore,”_ Merlin had told him the night before Kanen’s raid, when they were laying top-to-toe on Hunith’s dirt floor. _“I wanted to find a place that I did.”_ Until now, Arthur had never understood just how true that statement must have been.

“So Gaius knows,” Arthur said it as if it were a given, “has _always_ known, that you have magic.”

Merlin nodded. “From the moment I walked into his rooms. He’d been in the loft searching for a book when my greeting startled him. He fell backward through the railing. I used my magic to move his bed to break his fall.”

Arthur appeared startled. “You saved his life with magic, too?”

“Yes,” Merlin replied. “Since moving to Camelot, I’ve been saving someone’s life with it on a startlingly regular basis. Especially yours.”

Putting out his hand and placing his feet back on the floor, Merlin incanted, “ _Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme._ ”

Arthur stared at his face as if in wonder. Merlin saw the reflection of his eyes in Arthur’s as they suddenly glowed like molten metal. Arthur’s mouth dropped open in amazement as he watched the ball of ethereal blue light materialised in the palm of Merlin’s hand and floated slowly upward to hover over the table.

Finally, Arthur’s astounded gaze met Merlin’s. “It was you! In the Caves of Balor!”

“Yes.” With a wave of Merlin’s hand, his creation dissipated.

“But...how? You were in Camelot! You were dying! Gaius said that you weren’t even conscious.”

“I honestly don’t know how I did it, Arthur, but you can ask Gaius. He was there when I cast the spell. Somehow I must have sensed you were in trouble and helped you the only way I could.”

Arthur’s eyes took on a faraway look as if his mind were reaching for another memory. “In Ealdor…the whirlwind. Was that you, too?”

Merlin nodded.

Arthur looked at Merlin thoughtfully, his head tilted to the side. “You were trying to tell me that morning, weren’t you? When we were dressing for battle?”

Again, Merlin nodded. “Yes.”

“Perhaps it was best that you didn’t,” Arthur admitted, sounding sheepish. “I don’t think I would have taken the news well. Not then, anyway.”

Merlin thought back to that day in Ealdor: Arthur standing next to him stiffly while they watched Will’s pyre burn. _You know how dangerous magic is. You shouldn’t have kept this from me, Merlin,_ he’d said, and his voice had been accusing and harsh.

“No,” Merlin agreed. “In retrospect, I don’t think that you would have taken it at all well.”

“And you said your friend Will knew?”

“Yes. He was a great friend. He took my secret to the grave and protected me with his dying breath.” The words came out a bit harsher than Merlin had meant them to be, but he couldn’t help it.

Arthur winced at the unspoken rebuke. “Does anyone else know about your magic?”

Merlin thought about his father, about Freya and the druids, about Kilgharrah and Gilli and Lancelot, and then sighed. “No one in Camelot.”

“Does Morgana know?”

“No,” Merlin asserted, repressing a shiver at the thought.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” Arthur said, releasing a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding.

“Agreed,” Merlin replied. “I have no intention of _ever_ letting Morgana find out, if I can help it. It’s best if she thinks you’re unprotected. It makes my job easier.”

“Your…job?”

Merlin gave Arthur a very dry look. “You may be the greatest warrior in all of Albion, Arthur, but you’re still a dollophead if you honestly believe that you can protect both yourself and Camelot from magical threats without help in kind.”

Arthur glared at Merlin, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away the fact that he wasn’t really upset. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time, then? Protecting me against magical attacks?”

Merlin nodded. “Whenever I could, yes.”

Arthur quirked up one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Like when?”

“Are you sure you want to hear the answer right now? It’s a rather long list.” 

Arthur sobered at that. “I suppose you’re right. Another time, then.” He looked down at the table and traced his finger along the grain of the wood. After a moment, he looked up again and asked earnestly, “Do you honestly think you can help my father, Merlin?”

“I don’t know Arthur, but I will try.”

“But I thought you said that it would take a ‘sorcerer of considerable power’ to heal him? Do you possess that kind of power?”

“Power has never been my problem,” Merlin reassured Arthur with a distracted frown. “I’ve got plenty of that.”

Arthur seemed startled by the offhanded way Merlin admitted his own strength.

“Then what?” Arthur asked.

“It’s the nature of spell that concerns me,” Merlin explained. “Healing spells are not exactly my forte. But I promise I will do my very best to save him.”

Arthur rose from his chair and walked around the table to stand beside Merlin. As Merlin looked up at him, Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s all I could ask of you. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin flushed. “You don’t need to thank me, Arthur.”

“Yes. I do,” Arthur insisted. “I understand how difficult this decision must have been for you to make: having to reveal your magic like this, offering help to a man who would gladly have you killed if he knew your secret.”

Merlin pushed his chair back and stood, placing a mirroring hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I have had to make many difficult decisions since I arrived in Camelot, but this wasn’t one of them. You’re my _friend_ , Arthur, and Uther—no matter what his beliefs—is still your father and you love him. That’s reason enough for me.”

Arthur’s hand slipped to Merlin’s bicep and then he pulled him into a hug. Merlin startled for a moment, and then blissfully sank into the embrace. “Thank you,” Arthur whispered into Merlin’s ear, his voice alarmingly hoarse. “You’ll never know how much that means to me.”

Actually, Merlin did know. He knew exactly how excruciating it was to lose one’s father, to have him die in your arms after taking a lethal blow that was meant for you...but now was not the time or place to explain. Later, they would talk. Later, Merlin would tell him everything.

But for now?

Merlin closed his eyes and reveled in Arthur’s touch as he returned the gesture. Enclosed in the circle of Arthur’s arms, Merlin had never felt so warm, so safe and accepted. It was a feeling like nothing else he’d ever known, a sense of being complete...as if after all these years of searching, he’d finally found _home._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old English Spell Glossary:
> 
>  
> 
>  _Cuman wæter:_ I command the water to come.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Hæte:_ Heat.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Upastige Draca:_ Rise, Dragon!
> 
>  
> 
>  _Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme:_ The translation of this has nothing to do with the actual spell, but this is the spell that created the ball of light that Merlin sent to Arthur to guide him in S1 Ep4.


	2. A Dangerous Proposition

To say that Gaius was surprised to find both Merlin _and_ Arthur at his door would have been a huge understatement. 

“Sire!” Gaius gasped, his head bent in respect as Arthur strode into the room after Merlin and shut the door behind them. “I...wasn’t expecting you.” 

“I daresay you weren’t, Gaius,” Arthur acknowledged with a wry smile. “But I am here, nonetheless.” 

Gaius studied Arthur’s face for many seconds before sighing wearily and saying, “You know then.” 

“Yes,” Arthur replied succinctly with a nod. 

“And Merlin’s head is still attached to his shoulders, so I take it your conversation went well?” he said, a hint of disapproval implicit in his tone. 

“Gaius,” Arthur rebuked softly, “I realise my surname is Pendragon, but I am _not_ my father.” 

Gaius nodded once in acknowledgment and then wisely remained silent. 

“Have you made any progress on discovering which healing spell would have the best chance of working?” Merlin asked as he plopped himself down on the bench on the far side of the book-strewn table from his mentor. 

Gaius spared an uneasy glance for Arthur before handing a book to his ward. “I believe this one may be the best I have to offer. Gwillem of Cambria was as mad as a coot, but there was never a better healer.” Gaius reached across the table to point to the right hand page of the open book. “Here.” He tapped his gnarled finger against it to indicate which spell. “You have a look at that. I will put together the required herbs.” 

Arthur sidled closer to look at the book over Merlin’s shoulder. His forehead wrinkled as he squinted to try to make sense of the strange markings. 

“Merlin, what language is that?” he finally asked. 

“Hmm?” Merlin hummed distractedly as he perused the passage describing the healing ceremony. 

“That language,” Arthur repeated. “I don’t recognise it. I thought I’d been taught at least a rudimentary amount of every language spoken in the Five Kingdoms.” 

“Uh, yeah…” Merlin replied sheepishly. “You definitely wouldn’t have learnt _this_ one. It’s used primarily for magic work. Ancient Runes.” 

“Ah,” Arthur nodded ruefully. _Of course._

With his father’s absolute abhorrence of anything magical, he would never have exposed Arthur to the language used by magic users. Although, were his father more logical about his feelings on the subject, he would have seen that he really _should_ have…if only to arm Arthur with the knowledge so he could better protect himself. It was just another moment that drove home the lesson that, when it came to magic, his father was anything but logical. 

“What does it say?” he asked, seating himself on the bench next to Merlin. 

Merlin scooted over to make more room for the prince and then pushed the book over so Arthur could see it better. “It says that the sickroom must first be cleansed by burning a smudge stick of sage and rosemary.” Merlin’s finger followed along under the markings as he read. 

“Why?” 

“To clear the area of any harmful external influences and open the healing pathways of the patient,” Merlin explained. “It also charges the air and makes it more capable of holding and transferring the healing magic.” 

“And then what?” 

“Then I will anoint the injured area with runes drawn with chamomile and yarrow.” 

“Healing oils,” Arthur said. 

“Yes,” Merlin nodded with a curious tilt to his head. “How did you know?” 

Arthur snorted. “Well, it _is_ a healing ritual, Merlin. It only makes sense.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes, but then pursed his lips and frowned as he read the next part. “Hmm. I can see why this healer was considered a bit mad. This spell is more than a little bit risky.” 

“Why is it risky?” Arthur asked, trepidation creeping into his voice. 

“Because the spell borrows from the life essence of the caster in order to work. It can be very draining. It’s very difficult to keep track of your energy use that way. If the ritual goes on for too long…” 

Arthur’s heart lurched as he considered the possible consequences. “Then maybe we shouldn’t use this spell. It’s too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong.” 

Merlin shook his head. “We don’t have a choice, Arthur. Your father is dying. This is what needs to be done if we are to save him.” 

Before Arthur could protest further, Gaius returned with a small satchel. “Merlin’s right, Sire,” the physician agreed. “Uther’s only hope is powerful magic performed by a powerful sorcerer. Luckily, you have both.” 

Gaius clapped a proud hand to Merlin’s shoulder and set the satchel down on the table in front of him with a smile. “There is the smudge stick, some fresh bandages, and the oils. Have you got the ritual memorised yet?” 

Merlin’s eyes remained glued to the page in front of him. “Almost…just give me another couple of minutes and I think I will have it.” 

Nodding, Gaius stepped toward Arthur and started tidying up the table. 

“Memorised?” Arthur asked, looking at Gaius for the answer rather than from his preoccupied manservant. 

Gaius stepped toward the prince, cradling an armful of books against his chest. “We thought it best that Merlin not have anything… _incriminating_ with him,” the physician explained quietly. 

“What’s the harm? It’s only going to be me in there with him, and I already know his secret.” 

“Arthur, you’re forgetting that if Merlin is successful, the king will wake.” Gaius nodded toward his ward surreptitiously. “With his penchant for attracting trouble, we don’t need him actually courting disaster, now do we?” 

Arthur’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. He knew well how easily things could go pear-shaped whenever Merlin was involved. No matter how serious the circumstance, it was almost a comfort to have it confirmed by an outside source that Merlin really was still just as much as an idiot as before...albeit an idiot with a whole lot of magic. 

“No, we really don’t,” Arthur agreed. 

Gaius pressed the heavy tomes he held into Arthur’s grasp. “I would appreciate your help with these, my Lord,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the loft where most of his books were kept. 

Arthur took the hint. “Of course, Gaius,” he said, shifting the books to rest under one arm and following the old man up the staircase. 

When they reached the narrow walkway at the top of the stairs, Gaius turned toward Arthur and retrieved the books, shelving them one by one. As he did so, he said sotto-voiced, “During the ritual, Merlin will have to repeat the incantation over and over, first out loud, and then inside his head. At that point his focus will be turned inward, which often puts the healer into a sort of meditative trance.” 

Arthur nodded soberly. 

“The spell he is attempting is quite advanced,” Gaius continued, cradling the last book between his hands as if he needed something to hold on to for comfort. “Normally, one would have been practicing the magical healing arts for several years before attempting it. I fear that, while Merlin has enough magic to perform the spell, he might easily do himself harm. As you know, he is not very good with self-preservation.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed, “You can say that again…” 

“Indeed. This is why he will need _you_ to watch over him. If it appears that the spell is not working…if it is draining him too much…” 

“Don’t worry, Gaius,” Arthur reassured the physician, placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder, “I’ll make sure he’s safe.” 

Nodding once in acknowledgment, Gaius said gratefully, “Thank you, Sire.” 

Merlin was just closing Gwillem’s healing book as Arthur approached him. With a firm nod, Merlin looked up at Arthur. “I’m ready anytime you are, Arthur.” 

“Fine, then…” Arthur began, but he was interrupted by a firm _rap-rap-rap_ on the door to Gaius’ chambers. 

“Gaius?” Sir Gwaine’s voice called through the rough-hewn wood. 

The three men’s eyes widened as they met each other’s gaze, and then Merlin quickly slid the thin volume beneath some of the paper still littering Gaius’ worktable just seconds before the door opened and admitted Gwaine, with Sir Leon on his heels. 

“Ah,” Gwaine drawled, an easy smile curling his lips, “I said they’d be here, didn’t I, Leon?” 

“Yes, you did,” Sir Leon agreed amiably. He looked up to meet Arthur’s eyes. “When we didn’t find you in the king’s chambers, we figured there were only a few places you and Merlin would go. This was the first place we checked, my Lord.” 

“Then you have news?” 

Leon nodded. “We interrogated the circus troupe. Most of them knew nothing of the attack, but there was one…the midget named Geldred. He was aware of the particulars of the plot against you.” 

“So, the attack _was_ meant for me,” Arthur confirmed, his face a mask of pain and sorrow. 

“It was,” Gwaine confirmed. 

“And who took out the contract?” 

“Odin, Sire,” Leon said gravely. 

Arthur sighed deeply and ran both hands through his hair, making it stand almost on end. “Would that I had refused his son…” 

“The Knight’s Code would not permit it, Sire,” Leon reminded him gently. “You were obligated to fight once his son issued the challenge. Your hands were tied. You know that and, deep down, so does Odin.” 

Arthur exploded into motion, startling everyone else in the room. “Hang the bloody Knight’s Code when following it leads to things like this!” His hands moved as if to encompass all that had happened in Camelot in the last twelve hours. “And how many more attempts on my life will it take before Odin finally succeeds?” 

“We will protect you, my lord,” Leon vowed. 

Sir Leon’s vehement declaration served to soothe Arthur’s agitated state. “I know you will,” he said, clapping a hand to his First Knight’s shoulder. “I just wish there was no need.” 

“What would you like us to do with the man who confessed?” Gwaine asked. 

Arthur sighed deeply. “He committed treason against the crown and was an accessory to attempted regicide. I have no choice but to execute him; the sentence to be carried out immediately.” 

Gwaine nodded once and his face grew grim. 

“However, I want it done in private. No public spectacles. The story has been put out that the king has merely taken ill, and for now, I want nothing that would cast doubt on that supposition. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, my lord,” Sir Leon replied succinctly. 

“And the rest?” Gwaine pressed. 

“If the two of you are satisfied that they knew nothing of the plot, then send them to the border of Camelot with an armed escort. I will allow you to release the rest of the troupe, provided they never step foot in Camelot again, under penalty of death.” 

“I’m sure they will be very much relieved to hear that, Sire,” Gwaine replied. 

“Very well,” Arthur answered in a tone that absolutely brooked no arguments, “you are dismissed.” 

Both knights bowed their heads respectfully and turned to leave. 

As Leon’s hand touched the door latch, Arthur cried out, “Wait!” 

Leon turned back to face the prince. “Yes, my lord?” 

“Earlier this afternoon I dismissed the men standing guard at my father’s chamber door. Please arrange for a new detail to stand guard in the Royal Wing, with strict instructions that they are allowed no closer than the end of the hallway leading to his rooms.” 

Leon’s brows rose in surprise, although he wisely chose not to question Arthur’s motives. “As you wish, my Lord. I shall take care of it straight away.” 

Arthur’s eyes connected with Leon’s. “Thank you for all you’ve done,” he said, his sincerity unquestionable. Arthur raised his head so as to include Gwaine in his line-of-sight. “ _Both_ of you,” he admitted. 

Gwaine nodded once in an uncharacteristically solemn acknowledgement of the praise. 

“Sire?” Sir Leon ventured. 

“Yes?” 

“Have you thought about what you will do?” 

Arthur raised his eyebrows in silent question. 

“Once the king…” Leon stammered uncomfortably. “After he’s…” 

With his lips pressed into a thin line, Arthur replied, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Leon. My father is a strong and stubborn man. I hold out hope that he may yet recover.” 

Leon’s eyes darted toward Gaius’ grim face for a moment and then back again to his prince. From the amount of blood loss he’d witnessed alone, it was obvious to the knight that the king was not long for the world. He’d seen too many good men die from lesser wounds to think otherwise. His expression grave, he said gently, “Arthur, I…” 

But Arthur put up a hand to stem the tide of his words. “I understand how slim his chances are, Leon, but I shall not stop believing in them while there is still life in his body.” 

Leon bowed his head. “Of course, Sire. Forgive me.” 

“No forgiveness needed,” Arthur reassured him. 

With a nod in Gaius and Merlin’s direction, Leon opened the door and let himself and Gwaine out. 

“You do realise that if the king recovers, Sir Leon will suspect sorcery,” Gaius said once the knight’s footfalls could no longer be heard. “Sir Gwaine, too.” 

“I have no doubt that they will piece it together, Gaius,” Arthur responded. “It cannot be helped. However, they will have no reason to suspect Merlin was involved. If anything, they will believe it was you, as your past with magic is known to at least a few in the royal court. But none will dare question it if I do not.” 

Gaius gave Merlin a meaningful pat on the back. “Perhaps you best get on with it, then.” 

Merlin nodded, turning toward the physician. 

“Be careful, Merlin,” Gaius warned. 

Merlin gave his mentor a crooked grin. “Aren’t I always?” 

Gaius rolled his eyes heavenward and pulled the young man into his arms. “Gods give me strength,” he snorted, giving Merlin a squeeze. “Your idea of being careful takes years off my life, Merlin.” 

Merlin closed his eyes and leaned into the old man’s embrace. “Love you too, Gaius,” he murmured into his ear. “Everything will be right as rain before you know it. You’ll see.” 

“Be back soon,” Merlin said once they’d parted, giving Gaius a sunny smile. 

“Then let us hope it is with good news.” 

They were halfway to the door when Arthur stopped short, almost causing Merlin to plow into him. 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he turned to face his servant. “Wait a minute…I just realised something. You’ve never actually been in the tavern when Gaius said you were, have you?” 

The guilty expression on Merlin’s face answered the question before his mouth did. “No.” 

Arthur aimed one accusing eyebrow at Gaius, who suddenly decided that it was incredibly important for him to sweep out the opposite corner of the room. 

“Off doing some sort of top secret sorcery, were you?” Arthur said, only half-teasing. 

“Yes, as it happens,” Merlin confirmed. 

“Well if you weren’t in the tavern, then where were you when that crazy, old nutter of a sorcerer was running about the castle? I could have used some help there.” 

Merlin’s lips twitched. “Arthur…I _was_ that crazy, old nutter of a sorcerer running about the castle.” 

One corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked up wryly. “I should have known. Once a crackpot, always a crackpot.” 

He grinned unrepentantly around his “Oof!” when he received a very predictable sharp elbow to the gut. 

“How did you do it?” Arthur asked curiously, his hand resting on the door latch. 

“Aging spell.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Really?” 

“Yeah, that was me at eighty. Not exactly an experience I want to repeat.” 

“Why not? I think the three-foot-long white beard was a good look for you. And I’m sure I could come up with a suitable hat to go with that get up…Perhaps something tall and pointy?” 

Merlin glared at him. “Oh, no. I’m never wearing any hat _you_ suggest ever again!” 

He shoved Arthur’s hand out of the way and wrenched open the door himself. Arthur chuckled as he loped along behind his manservant. 

They walked in silence until they got to the hallway reserved only for the servants that served the royal household. As the king was supposedly under quarantine, it was predictably deserted. 

“Well, you have to admit that scheme was particularly harebrained of you,” Arthur said conversationally as he turned toward Merlin and shook his head. “What ever made you think that getting Gwen accused of sorcery was going to help the situation?” 

“Now who’s being harebrained?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “ _Morgana_ was the one that set Gwen up with that poultice, not me. I just offered myself up as the convenient scapegoat to give your father someone else to blame.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure what shocked him more, that Morgana would want to hurt him so badly that she would frame her own maidservant and friend to do it, or that Merlin had nearly been burnt at the stake in his attempt to save Gwen’s life. 

“You should have said something.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “No one would have believed me, Arthur, and you know it.” 

“So you decided it made more sense to offer yourself up instead? That has got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve heard yet.” 

“Well, what else could I do, Arthur?” Merlin asked plaintively. “You were heartbroken and your father had you under house arrest. You had no way to rescue her. And Gwen is my friend, too. Your father was going to kill her. I couldn’t let that happen.” 

“But…you almost died!” Arthur scolded. 

“Pfft, I’ve had much closer calls than that,” Merlin said with a nonchalant shrug. 

Arthur shuddered. “Merlin, if barely escaping certain death less than thirty feet from the pyre was not your closest call, I’m not sure I want to know what is…” 

“No,” Merlin agreed seriously, “you probably don’t.” He opened the door that led to Uther’s private chambers and stepped inside. 

Arthur followed Merlin across the threshold and locked the door behind them. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Drag that table over here,” Merlin said, catching his lower lip between his teeth in thought. 

Arthur grasped the end of his father’s eating table and pulled it along the side of the bed. Merlin turned and untied his satchel, carefully smoothing the creases from the cloth and setting the supplies out in a specific order. When that was done, Arthur asked, “What else?” 

Merlin pointed to the kettle that sat on stones next to the hearth. “Could you warm up some water? I will need to clean out the wound before applying the oils.” 

Arthur looked toward the hearth and frowned. “Merlin, the fire is nearly down to coals. Warming water over that will take…” 

His sentence stuttered to a halt as Merlin waved a vague hand in the direction of the hearth and wood leapt from the stack into the fireplace and immediately caught fire. 

“Merlin,” Arthur drawled in disbelief, “if you can do all that with just a wave of your hand, then can’t you warm the water yourself?” 

Merlin looked up at Arthur in confusion for a moment, and then blushed. “Huh? Oh. Right, yeah. Sorry…habit.” He concentrated his gaze on the washing bowl in the corner and murmured, “ _Hæte_.” 

Before the glow had even faded from Merlin’s eyes, Arthur could see the tendrils of steam wafting from the surface of the water. “Impressive,” Arthur complimented as he went to retrieve the bowl. “Is this how you were always able to have a warm bath waiting for me?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said. “Not such a crap servant after all, am I?” 

Arthur shrugged and replied with a teasing lilt, “I suppose you’re not _completely_ useless…though it does make me wonder just how many tasks I’ve set you that you used magic to cheat at…” 

Merlin smiled warmly at Arthur as he set the bowl down on the table next to Merlin’s supplies. 

“I’ll never tell,” Merlin said. “Besides, I don’t think of it as cheating; it’s a more efficient use of my energy.” 

“Hmmm…” Arthur pursed his lips and pretended to be annoyed, although the twitching at the corners of his mouth gave the game away. 

“Now what?” Arthur prompted. 

“Let’s pull him closer to this side of the bed so I can reach everything all right.” Merlin grabbed the topmost corner of the sheet while Arthur grasped the bottom and they very carefully pulled the king’s body to the near side of the bed. The movement didn’t even make him twitch. 

Arthur frowned, troubled by how still and pale his father looked, and how shallow and halting his breaths had become. “Merlin…” 

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, not needing to hear the question to know what was being asked. “We can’t afford to wait any longer. Help me get his tunic out of the way.” 

Together, they gingerly tugged the material further up the king’s chest to expose the bandage under his ribs. Arthur sucked in a shaky breath at the sight of the bloody cloth and tried desperately not to think of the night before when that blood ran slick and hot through his fingers. 

Dimly, he felt a weight on his arm. “Hey,” Merlin was saying, pulling at him to get his attention. “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see. We’ll fix this.” 

Arthur closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly to center himself. When he opened his eyes again, Merlin already had the smudge stick in hand. “Are you ready?” Merlin asked, his eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer. 

“Yes.” 

Merlin nodded and then stared intently at the dried herbs in his hand until they started to smoulder, releasing a pungent smoke that soothed Arthur’s racing pulse. Slowly, Merlin walked around the sickroom, wafting the incense into every corner and around every door and window, murmuring words of the Old Religion under his breath. 

Finally, Merlin returned to the bed, holding the smoking bundle over the king’s head. “ _Eac þéos wyrtung, Ic i áfeorme ðu._ ” He moved his hand with the smudge stick down Uther’s body and back up again three times before extinguishing what was left of the herb bundle and setting it aside. 

Next, Merlin carefully peeled the stained cloth away from Uther’s side. The gash had not knit together at all and instead gaped open, weeping fluid from its edges. Merlin didn’t even flinch at the sight, but then Arthur supposed he’d seen worse in the six years he’d been Gaius’ apprentice. 

Merlin plucked a clean cloth from the small pile on the table and dipped it in the warm water and wrung it out. He applied the cloth to the wound and then patted and gently stroked around its edges, rinsing the linen again and again until the ashy-pale skin was no longer marred by rusty streaks. 

Turning back toward the table, Merlin pulled out a small wooden bowl and measured out equal amounts of the chamomile and yarrow extracts. He dipped his right index finger into the oils and leaned over the king, drawing a different runic symbol at north, south, east and west, each time reciting, “ _Ic i átíefre þéos tácn helpan lácnunge ðu._ ” 

Arthur watched, rapt, as Merlin’s eyes momentarily glowed at the end of each incantation. He could swear that he could feel the latent power of Merlin’s magic building up all around them, like the heaviness in the air just minutes before a downpour. 

Once that task was done, Merlin grasped the edge of the bowl and tipped it so that the liquid drizzled slowly over the side and into maw of the gaping wound. Arthur sucked in a painful gasp, imaging the burning agony he would have felt, but there was no response in kind from the king. Instead Arthur heard yet another slow, laboured breath wheeze out between his father’s chapped lips. 

Finally Merlin set the bowl aside, rinsed his hands, and dried them on another piece of clean linen. Merlin used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat that had built up on his forehead. 

He looked up to find Arthur staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” he questioned with a tilt of his head. 

‘You…really _do_ have magic…” Arthur stammered. 

Merlin flashed him a crooked grin. “Yeah. What, did you think I made it up? I did some for you earlier, remember?” 

“Yes! I mean, no…I mean…” Arthur took a deep breath and tried again. “Your eyes…they glow so _bright_ when you do it…” 

“So I’ve been told,” Merlin agreed with a shrug as he began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. “Weird, isn’t it?” 

Arthur shook his head. “No, actually. It’s sort of…amazing,” he admitted, his voice hushed with awe. 

A blush stole up Merlin’s cheeks as he lowered his eyes and murmured, “Thank you.” 

Arthur’s breath caught and his pulse thrummed as his eyes caressed the features of Merlin’s face: the fringe of ebony hair hiding his stunningly blue eyes from view, the pink-tinged cheekbones so sharp against the backdrop of his otherwise alabaster skin, the ripe, berry-coloured lips that were curved into a soft, pleased smile. 

Something stirred in Arthur’s breast then; something huge and daunting and so altogether confusing that he pushed it aside with the intent of examining it at a later date. But the impression he was left with was how very lucky he was to have someone like Merlin in his life. 

Out of everyone he’d ever met, the only person who knew all of him—had seen him at his best and at his very worst—was Merlin. And despite that, he was still here. 

No matter how awful he’d been at times, Merlin’s faith in Arthur had never wavered. Merlin was a _sorcerer_ and had every right in the world to hate him, Camelot, and all it stood for. Yet, he had stood by Arthur’s side through every trial, every crisis that he or Camelot had faced. It was he who gave Arthur words of wisdom at the oddest times and yet could also be the biggest idiot in the Five Kingdoms. He who possessed strong and powerful magic, yet was clumsy enough to trip over air. He’d never understood why, but Arthur had always felt the need to protect Merlin; yet—in his own way—Merlin been protecting Arthur as well. 

It was a startling revelation, something that shook the foundations of everything Arthur had ever known. It was as if some powerful being had taken the world he knew and shifted it three feet to the left, throwing everything just a bit off kilter. 

He’d barely even noticed his preoccupation until he felt a familiar hand grasp his arm. “Arthur? Are you all right?” 

Merlin’s voice, so warm and worried, penetrated Arthur’s thoughts and brought him back to himself. “Yes,” he said with a nod, clasping a hand over Merlin’s. “I’m fine.” 

“Good,” Merlin nodded, squeezing at Arthur’s bicep for just a moment before pulling away. A grim, tenacious expression suffused Merlin’s face as his body tensed. 

All at once, it came to Arthur how very much Merlin was risking for his sake: his secret, his freedom, perhaps his very life…all to save the life of a man who would despise and condemn him, were he to know the truth. 

Before he could stop them, the words rushed out of Arthur’s mouth. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Merlin paused in the motion of moving his hands into position over Uther’s wound and looked up, meeting Arthur’s worried gaze with one that was awe-inspiringly calm. “Yes, I’m sure. I would not have you lose what I have the ability to restore.” 

“But…” 

“Whatever happens,” Merlin continued, talking right over Arthur’s hesitant reply, “I will never regret having tried to right this wrong.” 

And in that statement, Arthur heard all the things Merlin had left unsaid: 

_I know how dangerous this is, Arthur; I know what might happen to me if I succeed and I accept it; I forgive whatever you may have to do because I would never ask you to choose between us; I am doing this for you…_ and even: 

_You mean more to me than my own life._

Despite how badly he wanted his father alive and whole once more, Arthur could not bear the thought of losing Merlin. He opened his mouth to say this, but then he saw the stubborn set to Merlin’s jaw, the determined glint in his eye, and stilled. 

It was a look Arthur recognised. He’d seen it a hundred times over on his knights as they prepared for battles that seemed nigh unwinnable, and yet they would proudly give their lives for king and country. What Merlin was doing was no different although Merlin had made no secret that his loyalty was to Arthur and not to Uther. It was still a noble sacrifice, and Arthur would no more take that away from Merlin than he would from the knights. 

So, instead of saying all the things to Merlin he wished he could, he nodded solemnly toward the king and said, “Begin.” 

Merlin raised his hands and held them above Uther’s wound. He stared not at the king, but at Arthur’s face as he said in a hushed voice, “ _Efen cume ætgædre, éalá gástas cræftige: gestricie þis líc forod._ ” 

Nothing happened. 

Merlin repeated the words, his voice stronger and more powerful, “ _Efen cume ætgædre, éalá gástas cræftige: gestricie þis líc forod._ ” 

Again, there was nothing. 

Sucking in a deep fortifying breath, Merlin’s eyes flickered closed and he spoke the words of healing a third time. His voice, although no louder than it had been a moment ago, felt somehow richer and fuller in Arthur’s ears. “ _Efen cume ætgædre, éalá gástas cræftige: gestricie þis líc forod._ ” 

Still nothing. 

But then Arthur’s gaze flickered toward the bed, attracted by something out of the corner of his eye. A shimmering haze was beginning to form at Merlin’s fingertips, like the heat mirages that would rise from the cobblestones in the courtyard of the keep at the height of summer. 

Merlin repeated the spell again, and again. His voice reverberated throughout the room, bouncing off every wall, and then the shimmering aura began to glow. Filaments of blue and gold entwined and twisted along the length of the warlock’s arms, bursting into life like ivy made of lightning. When the it reached his shoulders, the power cascaded down his body like a waterfall, encompassing him in an aura of sparkling, flickering light. As the glowing power encased Merlin’s head, his eyes snapped open, a brilliant gold that was so bright that it was painful to look upon. 

Instead, Arthur turned his eyes back toward his father. As he watched, the blue lightning trickled down Merlin’s arms and into his father’s wound until it pulsed with power. Merlin’s voice died away and his eyes closed again as the warlock fell deeper into the healing trance, but there was no doubt that he was still casting the spell in his mind. Even as the light surrounding Merlin grew dimmer, the light in and around Uther’s wound grew brighter…and then finally the wound began to knit itself closed. 

“ _Merlin_ ….” Arthur breathed in awe, unable to believe his own eyes. “You’re really doing it, Merlin…it’s working!” 

Although Merlin was too deep into his trance to respond to Arthur’s encouragement, his magic flared momentarily brighter as if in answer. The wound had sealed itself now, the scar fading from pink to white until it melted away completely, leaving the king’s abdomen as unblemished as if the mortal wound had never been. Ever so slowly, the greyish pallour of death on Uther’s skin began to recede, replaced with the ruddy complexion of health. 

Then, just as Gaius had forewarned, the drain of power from Merlin’s life force had started to affect his own health. His face was drawn and tight as if from pain, and he appeared almost feverish, his body covered with a sheen of sweat. The flickering blue was nearly gone from Merlin’s aura now and even the brilliant corona of gold that had surrounded him had shrunken so much that it was barely visible. 

Arthur grasped at Merlin’s elbow as his hands trembled in exhaustion. “Merlin,” he said urgently, shaking him by the arm to try and rouse him. “That’s enough. You need to stop now.” 

But Merlin didn’t hear him. His breathing grew shallow and he swayed dangerously, but his hands still stubbornly hovered over the king, pouring even more of his essence into the man. 

“Merlin, _stop_!” Arthur commanded in his most authoritative tone, hoping and praying it would reach wherever Merlin was trapped inside his own mind. He clapped one hand to Merlin’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over while the other grabbed Merlin’s outstretched hands and pulled them forcibly away from his father’s body. 

Arthur felt a vibration in the air as the thread that tied his father’s and Merlin’s life forces severed. Both men’s eyes snapped open and they gasped in unison, gulping in deep lungfuls of air as if surfacing from the depths of a lake. 

For a pregnant moment their eyes met, and then Uther’s narrowed as he spat out, “Sorcery!” before bellowing, “Guards!” 

Merlin’s head drooped and his body trembled, whether in terrified realisation or sheer exhaustion Arthur didn’t know. 

Desperately, Arthur tried to salvage the situation. “Father, thank goodness!” he exclaimed, placing a hand on the king’s knee to draw his attention. “We were all very worried for you. You’ve been very ill. Merlin was just tending to you in Gaius’ stead, as the physician was up with you all night and is now resting.” 

“That was not medical treatment. It was sorcery. I saw him. Your manservant was _glowing_.” He turned his head toward the door and yelled louder, “Guards!” 

“Of course he wasn’t, Father.” 

Uther’s voice was cold as he hissed at Arthur, “I know what I saw.” 

“But Father, I’ve been standing here the whole time. I would have noticed something like that. That must have been a trick of the light from the window behind him.” 

“Do not patronise me, boy. Guards!” Uther called again impatiently. 

A moment later, a key was fitted to the lock and the door opened, admitting Sir Leon and two other guards. 

Sir Leon’s eyes widened as he stared at the king, now hale and hearty instead of on death’s door as he had been last eve. 

It seemed obvious to Leon what had occurred in the king’s bedroom…and who had done it. Arthur’s manservant looked exhausted and pale, and not just from fright. Certainly that was not a coincidence, seeing that the king’s fatal wound was now completely gone. 

“Yes, Sire?” Sir Leon asked, rallying admirably. “How may we assist you?” 

Uther nodded contemptuously toward Merlin and sneered, “Arrest Merlin and take him to the dungeons. He is a sorcerer. I caught him attempting to use magic for some nefarious purpose. He must be working with that assassin who attacked Arthur.” 

Leon’s gaze slid past Arthur to rest on Merlin contemplatively. He had to agree with the king that sorcery had definitely been involved, but _nefarious_ was not the word he would have used to describe it. Miraculous might have been a better term. 

Yes, magic was against the law, but Arthur had been in the room, too, and therefore had condoned Merlin’s actions. And if Arthur trusted Merlin, then Leon knew he could, too. 

Leon had worked under the king for many years now and Leon knew that denying the charge of sorcery would do nothing to help Merlin. However, he _could_ … 

“What assassin, Sire?” Leon asked, his face a careful mask of polite confusion. 

Uther leaned up on one elbow and glared at Leon. “What do you mean, ‘What assassin?’ The one that entered my chambers last evening with the intent of killing the prince!” 

“There was no assassin, my lord,” Leon lied so convincingly that Arthur’s eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. Even Merlin had raised his head and stared at him. 

Uther sat up and shook his head, a sliver of doubt creeping into his eyes for the first time. “No, I _know_ there was. He was the Gleeman from Arthur’s anniversary feast.” 

Leon shook his head gently. “The entire troupe was escorted to Camelot’s borders just this morning, Sire. We would have noticed if any of their number had been missing, my lord.” 

The king stared at Leon for a long moment with his forehead creased and his lips pursed as if he couldn’t understand why his memories did not mesh up with reality…but then he shook his head as if to clear his troubled thoughts. “It is of no matter,” he declared. “It does not change the fact that I witnessed Arthur’s manservant doing magic. Arrest him.” 

The guards that had accompanied Sir Leon were already flanking Merlin before the protest was out of Arthur’s mouth. “Father! Be reasonable. Merlin has served in the royal household for years. He is certainly not a sorcerer.” 

“You have seen precious little sorcery in your life, Arthur, and are therefore a poor judge. You have had that luxury, because _my_ laws have made it so. Merlin may have you fooled, but rest assured that I know a sorcerer when I see one.” Uther nodded to the guards that had each clamped a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Take him away.” 

“Father, please!” 

Merlin raised his head and met Arthur’s gaze with a tiny shake of his head. “No, it’s all right, Arthur. I’ll go.” He allowed his arms to be pulled behind him and he stumbled forward clumsily as the guards pushed him along in front of them out of the room. 

Arthur turned on his father angrily. “This is absurd! Merlin is not the enemy. He has saved my life—and yours—more than once. Why would he wait six long years to use magic against you when there have been many better opportunities to exact revenge?” 

Uther turned his harsh, cold gaze on his son. “You cannot prescribe logical sense to the actions of sorcerers. Gods only know what goes on inside their sick, twisted minds.” 

“Merlin has always been a brave and loyal subject of Camelot. You’ve said so yourself!” 

“Then he played his part well,” Uther sneered. “That makes him even more insidious…and dangerous.” 

Arthur shook his head as if doing so would dislodge the words of nonsense from his brain. “Father, you have no idea what…” 

From the brewing storm cloud expression forming on the king’s face, Leon thought it the better part of valour to intercede. He stepped forward to address the king, clasping a warning hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he did so. Interrupting Arthur’s impending tirade, he said with a subservient bow, “Sire, if I may…I believe that Prince Arthur may simply be in shock over the revelation that his manservant was betraying us. Time will probably give him a better perspective. Perhaps he just needs the chance to calm down and see the right of it. Therefore, please allow me escort him to his chambers where he might reflect on the situation further. ” 

Uther aimed one venomous glance at Arthur before nodding tersely in Leon’s direction. “Very well. Perhaps that would be for the best.” Turning his gaze back to his son, he warned, “But whatever your feelings, Arthur, keep in mind that I am _still your king_ …and in this matter, you will do as I command. ” 

Arthur’s mouth curled into a fierce scowl, but he knew better than to protest. “My Lord,” he said bitterly as he sketched a formal bow at his father and turned on his heel to stalk from the room with Sir Leon trailing in his wake. 

The two men had barely cleared the king’s chambers when Arthur turned to Leon and demanded, “You don’t honestly believe that Merlin was harming him, do you!?” 

In response, Leon reached up and grasped Arthur’s elbow and forced him to continue his quick pace down the hall. “This is neither the time or place for this discussion, my lord.” 

Arthur huffed irritably but allowed himself to be steered down the hallway and into his chambers. Once inside, he yanked his arm out of Leon’s grasp and threw himself into a chair at his dining table, staring up at Leon expectantly. 

Hesitantly, Leon sat opposite the prince at the table. “Sire, I know very well that Merlin performed sorcery,” he began in a hushed tone. 

Arthur’s eyes widened and his mouth opened to defend Merlin, but before he could even form the words, Leon held up a staying hand so that he could continue. “Please, Sire…do not lie to me. I was there last evening and saw the king’s condition. I know how close he was to death, and now the wound is completely gone. There is no other logical explanation.” 

Arthur slumped in his chair and hung his head. “So then you agree with my father’s edict.” 

Leon shook his head. “No, I do not.” 

Arthur looked up at his First Knight in surprise. “Really?” 

“There may have been a time that I would have agreed with your father. After all, many times since I became a knight, sorcery has touched Camelot, and it has always been for ill intent. It would be easy to believe that all magic was evil when it was all you were exposed to.” 

“But in the last few years, something about Camelot’s luck has changed. Plagues have been healed. Curses have been lifted. Magical creatures thwarted. And never have I been so incredibly lucky whilst on patrol. I’ve never seen so many clumsy bandits or errant branches in all my life.” 

Arthur nodded. Put that way, it was easy for him to detect Merlin’s unseen hand in all those “lucky” occurrences. It brought to mind that night in Daobeth, when they were trapped alone in the ruins of the castle without so much as a torch between them. 

_“You don’t know how many times I’ve saved your life,”_ Merlin had said, just moments before he did it again by jumping headlong into the Dorocha bearing down on them. 

Arthur shivered at the memory of Merlin’s sightless eyes staring back at him as icicles clung to his hair and lashes. He was beginning to see there was more truth to Merlin’s statement than he ever knew. 

“I think we both know who to thank for that,” Leon said pointedly. 

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. 

“Magic or no, Merlin is a good man. And I know he is not alone,” Leon continued. “The Druids had no reason to try and save me. I was a knight of Camelot and Camelot has persecuted their kind for the last twenty years. But rather than leave me to die, they took me in and cured me, even knowing I might turn on them. If that is not considered selfless good, I do not know what is.” 

Arthur shook his head in confusion. “If you agree with me, then why did you not argue the point to my father?” 

“Because I knew he would not listen, Sire. The king has always tried to do his best by Camelot, but the subject of magic is not one your father will ever look upon calmly or rationally. He lost your mother to it, your sister has been consumed by it; he will always see magic as a scourge, a pox upon the land to be hunted down and exterminated. I fear you will never convince him otherwise.” 

“But I can’t very well let Merlin be executed because of his service to me.” Arthur began to pace. “And trust me, Leon…I know very well that it cannot be looked upon as anything else, for Merlin’s life would have been much easier had my father died.” 

Sir Leon nodded thoughtfully. “Merlin has always been uncommonly loyal to you, my Lord.” 

Arthur stopped pacing long enough to clap a hand to Leon’s shoulder. “As have you, Leon.” 

Leon nodded once in acceptance of the compliment. “Thank you, my lord.” 

Deep in thought, Arthur’s feet moved once more, as if the motion helped him to think. “If my father cannot be prevailed upon to see reason, how are we to save Merlin?” 

“By convincing the king that he did not see what he thought he saw.” 

Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking up at the knight. “And how do we do that?” 

“Merlin’s foresight may prove to be his salvation,” Leon explained. “He bade me not to inform the Council or even your uncle about the events of last evening until we had all the facts at hand. No one save myself, Gaius, and Gwaine truly know how grave your father’s condition was. When absolutely no one can corroborate what he thinks he remembers, perhaps he will start to question the rest as well.” 

Arthur was halfway to the door of his chambers before the words even left his mouth. “Then we should speak to Gaius right away to coordinate our stories. He needs to know what’s happened.” 

A hand clasped to Arthur’s bicep arrested his motion. Arthur looked at Leon’s hand and then at the knight enquiringly. “Sire, perhaps it would be best if I spoke with Gaius.” 

As Arthur’s expression darkened, Leon continued. “It’s just that…word is bound to get out about Merlin’s arrest, if it hasn’t already. Everyone knows how close you are to Merlin—” Leon put up a finger to waylay Arthur’s denial as he said, “—including your father. I am sure that your movements will be under the closest watch. With Merlin arrested for sorcery, Gaius will already be under suspicion of harbouring him. Your direct communication with him will only cast more doubts in the king’s mind.” 

Arthur scowled for a moment, but then his face fell and he sighed deeply. “You’re right, of course. Gaius will be stricken enough over Merlin’s arrest; no need to make what will surely be a stressful situation any more so.” 

When Sir Leon reached the door, he looked over his shoulder at Arthur. He could only imagine how helpless Arthur felt in that moment. Taking in the prince’s look of frustration and sorrow, he murmured with feeling, “Perhaps you might take this time to visit Merlin in the cells before your father thinks to have you banned from the dungeons. It might be the only chance you get to discuss our plan with him.” Then Leon stepped out of the room and closed the wooden door behind him without looking back. 

Arthur wasted no time heading for the dungeons. Now that his father was feeling better, Arthur definitely wouldn’t put it past him to bar the prince from seeing Merlin, but Arthur hoped he hadn’t thought of it yet. 

As he approached the sentry table, Arthur pulled himself up into his most regal stance. “Gentlemen,” he said tersely as both men stood at attention so quickly that they knocked their chairs over. 

“Prince Arthur!” the more gangly one gasped as he exchanged an alarmed glance with a shorter, older, more portly fellow. “H…how can we help you, my lord?” 

“You can help me by telling me which cell currently houses my manservant,” he demanded. 

“But, Sire…” 

“Tell me which cell,” Arthur repeated, crossing his arms across his chest impatiently. 

The other guard spoke fearfully, “We ain’t supposed to—” 

Arthur cut him off. “Has my father explicitly given you an order not to admit me?” 

The more rotund guard rubbed the back of his neck with his hand uncomfortably. “Well, no, but…it’s sorta an unwritten rule that we ain’t ta let people in with _sorcerers_ , Sire. ‘Specially the Crown Prince.” 

“I assume that you’ve both met my manservant Merlin? Seen him at least?” Arthur asked them both, spearing each with his penetrating stare in turns. 

“I…I…yes, my lord,” the taller man stammered. 

“Does he seem much like an evil, conniving sorcerer to you? The man trips over his own feet at least three times a week, for Gods’ sake…” Arthur huffed, and the two guards snickered into their hands in commiseration. 

_Little do they know,_ Arthur thought wryly. 

“But…Owain told us that the king said…” the older guard began, but Arthur interrupted him. 

“The _king_ took ill after the banquet last evening and has been delirious,” Arthur countered, not even feeling a twang of guilt over the lie. “Merlin is also Gaius’ apprentice, and was treating the king for fever in the physician’s stead. In his condition, the king mistook the sun coming in from the window behind Merlin as sorcery, that’s all.” 

Dawning comprehension lit up the guards’ expressions. “Oh!” the younger man said, “I see. Suspect you’ll have this cleared up in no time, then.” 

“Yes,” Arthur fibbed. “But in the meantime, I need to know what that idiot did with my notes for the afternoon Council meeting…Which cell?” 

“All the way down at the end, Sire,” the other guard supplied. 

Arthur clapped a friendly hand to the man’s shoulder and said, “Good man,” praying to the Gods that neither of them could hear just how quickly his heart was beating or feel how sweaty his palms had become. 

***** 

“Arthur!” Merlin yelped as he jumped to his feet. He grasped at the metal bars in front of him to keep from falling when he overbalanced in his haste to stand. 

Merlin looked so stunned to see Arthur that, at any other time, Arthur would have made a joke about it; but oddly, their usual banter felt absurdly out of place. Unlike the other times that Merlin had been imprisoned, this situation was deadly serious. 

“Merlin, thank the Gods,” Arthur replied, clasping his hands over Merlin’s on the bars of the cell. “How are you feeling? Still weak?” 

“A bit, yeah, but I’ll survive,” Merlin replied in that way that always made Arthur suspect he was actually worse off than he was admitting. “What are you doing here?” 

“Ostensibly I’m here to find out where my Council meeting notes have gone, but really, it was to find out how you were.” Arthur’s hands tightened over Merlin’s. 

Merlin shook his head disapprovingly and stepped back, breaking the connection. “You shouldn’t have come, Arthur. Your father is angry enough as it is. If he thinks you’ve actually been ‘consorting with sorcerers,’ it could get pretty ugly.” 

“You can’t honestly think that I care about that right now,” Arthur protested, leaning closer to the bars. 

“But you _should_ , Arthur,” Merlin scolded, wrapping his arms around himself. “Uther won’t take kindly to you disobeying him about this—” 

Arthur shook his head to dismiss Merlin’s idiotic babble and interrupted, “Merlin, stop talking nonsense. You’re my friend; I’m not just going to leave you here to die.” 

Merlin’s lips pursed as if he were trying to remain stern, but the sudden twinkle in his eyes gave away his true feelings. “But I thought you said that we _couldn’t_ be friends,” he teased, motioning between them with one hand. “Boundaries between the classes and all that rubbish?” 

Arthur put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, and when have you _ever_ listened to any of that?” 

_That_ brought out Merlin’s cheeky grin. “Never,” he cheerfully agreed. 

“Right, well…” Arthur paused awkwardly. He’d never been good about expressing himself in the way his manservant always could. “…that’s what friends do for each other.” He threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin as if daring Merlin to contradict him. 

Merlin sputtered out a laugh and did just that. “Oh, so you always tease your friends to within an inch of their lives, throw goblets at their heads and tell them to shut up?” 

Arthur lifted his chin a notch higher as if in challenge. “Yes. That, too.” 

“All right, then,” Merlin continued, amused. “But, just for the record…we should really work on your people skills.” 

“Shut up, Merlin.” 

“Yes, _Sire_ ,” Merlin gleefully mocked in response. 

Arthur leaned in even closer and grasped the metal bars again. “Merlin, we don’t have time for this. I wanted to tell you that Sir Leon and I have constructed a plan to get you out of here.” 

“Leon?” Merlin sputtered. “But…he…” 

“…figured out what really happened, yes,” Arthur finished for him. 

“And he still wants to help me?” Merlin asked, stupefied. 

Arthur’s hands itched to smack Merlin upside the head for that, but seeing that there was an iron door between them, he settled for simply glaring at him. “You really don’t have much faith in us, do you?” 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin replied, “but this _is_ Camelot, and…Leon, really?” 

“Yes. Do you want to hear the plan or not?” 

Merlin nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course, sorry…” 

“Since no one else is aware of what truly happened last night, if we can make my father question what he thinks he remembers…” 

“Ah…so _that’s_ what Sir Leon was doing!” Merlin exclaimed as if everything finally made sense. “I _did_ wonder. Sir Leon is not exactly known for telling blatant falsehoods.” 

“Which is why we’re hoping this will work. Of course, with you being my manservant, Father would suspect _my_ motives, but Leon’s…” 

“Leon has always been loyal to the king,” Merlin agreed. 

“He’s always been loyal to _me_ ,” Arthur corrected. 

“Yeah, but your father doesn’t need to know that.” 

“Exactly.” 

Arthur’s expression turned grave. “But, if this doesn’t work…Merlin, can you—” Arthur waggled his fingers at Merlin through the bars, “—yourself out of there?” 

“Well, yeah…” Merlin said, his brow crinkling in confusion, “I _could_ , but—” 

Arthur cut him off urgently. “So then, if we can’t convince my father that he imagined it all, that’s what I want you to do: Get yourself out of here and flee Camelot.” 

“No!” Merlin exclaimed, his eyes wide with alarm. 

“ _Merlin…_ ” Arthur said warningly. 

But Merlin took another step backward and shook his head side to side violently. “No, Arthur. I won’t leave Camelot without you.” 

“You have to!” Arthur insisted. 

“No! I’m meant to be _here_ , protecting you.” 

“Merlin,” Arthur hissed, his voice full of exasperation, “I don’t _need_ protecting. I’ll be fine. You need to think about yourself right now. Besides, how are you going to protect me when you’re _dead_?” 

“I’m not going to die, Arthur; I’ll work something out if it comes to that. But there’s no way I’m leaving you unprotected. I mean you’re targeted by some magical plot or another practically every other day. And now we have Morgana to worry about, too, and the Gods only know what _she_ might be planning. You wouldn’t last a week here without me.” 

Arthur really didn’t want to think about the implications of Merlin’s statement. “Merlin…” 

“Besides, if I use—” Merlin used the same ridiculous hand motion Arthur had made moments before, “—to free myself, then it will be Gaius on the pyre instead of me,” Merlin countered, “and I am not going to leave him here to take the blame after all he has done for me.” 

Arthur frowned. Unfortunately, Merlin had a point. With Merlin gone, his father would seek retribution, and Gaius would be the most likely victim of his wrath. 

“And I thought we agreed that Morgana must never know about me. Disappearing from inside a locked cell isn’t exactly subtle, now is it?” 

Arthur felt that arrow of truth even more painfully than the first. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and sighed. “All right, have it your way then. But, one way or another, I am _going_ to get you out of here.” 

“Well, let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Merlin said. “You’ve already been down here way too long. You need to leave before Uther sends someone to have you forcibly removed.” 

“You’re probably right.” 

“Wow…” Merlin drawled, walking closer to the door of the cell and leaning against it casually. “First you admit that we’re friends and now you’re telling me I’m right about something. Maybe I should pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.” 

Arthur punched Merlin in the arm and then smirked when he complained, “Ouch! What was that for?” 

“Pinching, punching…” Arthur trailed off and shrugged with mock innocence. “Close enough.” 

Merlin reached through the bars and poked one spidery finger against Arthur’s chest. “Cabbagehead,” he said with a grin. “Now, go.” 

Arthur didn’t even try to hold back his smile. Merlin just seemed to have a knack for cheering him up no matter what the circumstance. “Fine, if it will shut you up.” 

He got about three steps away from the cell when he turned back. Merlin had already sat back down on the lumpy straw mattress. “And Merlin…” 

His manservant looked up in surprise. “Yes?” 

“Thank you…for helping my father.” Arthur said simply. 

Merlin’s smile was fond as he replied, “You’re welcome, Arthur.” 

Leon raised his hand to knock on the physician’s door and paused with a deep sigh. This was not a conversation he was looking forward to. Straightening his shoulders, he rapped his knuckles twice against the rough hewn wood. 

“Enter!” he heard Gaius’ voice call from inside the room. 

Leon pushed the door open and stepped through, trying to school his face into a neutral expression…and failing miserably. 

Gaius’ welcoming smile fell instantly. “Oh. I see. It’s Merlin, isn’t it?” he asked, though his voice was too monotone to really sound like a question. 

“I’m afraid so,” Leon admitted. 

Gaius slumped down onto the bench at his table as if his knees simply gave out. “Foolish boy,” he said, his voice full of indignant sorrow, “I told him it was too risky…” 

Leon braced himself against the closed door behind him as his mind reeled. _Gaius knew?_ But then he realised that of _course_ the old man would have known. First of all, Gaius was the most learned man he knew in all of Camelot, and that included Geoffrey. But second, it was said that he had practiced sorcery of the healing variety before the Purge; therefore he probably would have known Merlin was a sorcerer before anyone else. 

And yet, even with the king’s edict, it didn’t stop him from harbouring the boy and giving him a true home in Camelot. In that moment, Leon’s estimation of Gaius grew tenfold for, in his own quiet way, he too had defied the king for Merlin’s sake, just as the knight was doing now. 

Carefully, Leon sat himself down next to the physician. “I’m sorry, Gaius; I know Merlin is like a son to you.” 

Gaius wiped at his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. “Yes, he is.” 

Leon put a careful hand against the old man’s back. “Try not to worry. Arthur has got a plan, and barring that, I’m sure he is already planning Merlin’s escape. Arthur will not let Uther harm Merlin; especially not after what he did.” 

“So then, Merlin was successful in his task…” 

Leon nodded. “Yes. The king’s wound is completely gone, and he seems more alert than he’s been in months. I have never seen a healing so miraculous short of using the Cup of Life.” 

Gaius nodded soberly. “Merlin is not one to do things by halves.” 

“Not when it comes to Arthur, he doesn’t,” Sir Leon agreed. 

Gaius shared a significant look with the knight. “Indeed.” 

Abruptly, that thought brought Leon’s mind back to the task at hand. “Gaius, you should know that I have told the king the same story that I presented to Sir Agravaine this morning. We are trying to convince His Majesty that his memory is faulty and therefore should not be trusted. If the king can be wrong about one memory—” 

“—then perhaps he could be mistaken about another,” Gaius finished for him. “It is a clever technique. You may be able to convince him that the attack did not occur, but I fear it will not be enough to sway Uther from a charge of sorcery.” 

“Nevertheless, we will try. In the meantime, I fear that you will soon have visitors of a more invasive kind. Is there anything of, uh…” Leon tried to think of a way to phrase it delicately, “…an _incriminating_ nature that Merlin might possess?” 

A look of alarm suffused the physician’s face and he stood abruptly. “Yes!” he exclaimed, pointing up towards Merlin’s room. 

Leon surged to his feet as well. “Where?” he demanded urgently, already moving across the room. 

“There is a loose floorboard under his bed,” Gaius called, as Leon climbed the short staircase and shoved the door open. “I believe he keeps several items there that would probably be best not found.” 

Leon took the steps two at a time and then fell to his knees on the floor of Merlin’s room. He shoved the bed aside and stuck his finger in a knothole. As he tugged, an entire plank lifted out of the floor, revealing several items: a large leather bound book, a vaguely familiar-looking cloth-wrapped staff that was topped by a blue gem, a corked vial that housed a faintly glowing blue potion, a rough-hewn hand-carved dragon figurine, and a very particular maroon-coloured woolen robe that he’d last seen on an old man… 

Gaius had just reached the top of the stairs, holding a large leather satchel. “Here, Sir Leon,” he was saying, “you might want this to put his things into…” 

Leon turned and held up the damning article of clothing for the physician to see. “Care to explain why Merlin has _this_ in his possession?” he demanded angrily. 

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Leon,” Gaius hedged. 

“Oh really? Because the last time I saw this robe, it was on a man who’d been condemned to death for enchanting the prince!” 

Gaius huffed, held out the bag and shook it impatiently. “Merlin did not enchant Arthur,” he defended. “Arthur wasn’t enchanted at all. Morgana didn’t like the growing bond between Gwen and the prince. It was she who placed the poultice under Arthur’s pillow to frame her maid for sorcery. Merlin simply donned a disguise and allowed himself to get caught placing a similar poultice so that he could exonerate Gwen.” 

“So, the old man _was_ Merlin!” Leon exclaimed. 

“Yes. Arthur was beside himself because he couldn’t save Gwen, and she is also Merlin’s friend. You know how Merlin is: loyal to a fault. He couldn’t very well stand by and let her die when he had the means to stop it.” 

Leon stared at Gaius for a long moment…and then nodded, taking the bag out of the physician’s grasp as he said, “Sounds like something Merlin would be daft enough to do,” he admitted, and then shoved the robe, book, potion, and carving into the satchel. He slung the bag over his shoulder and then set the loose board back into place. Then Leon used the staff to push himself upright and moved Merlin’s bed back into place. 

“Why do I feel like I’ve seen this before?” Leon asked Gaius, nodding at the staff that was topped with a peculiar blue gem. 

“Because you have,” Gaius replied. “That staff belonged to Lady Sophia Tír-Mòr.” 

“Then why does Merlin have it? Did she gift it to him?” 

Gaius shook his head vehemently. “Not at all. Lady Sophia was not what she seemed. Sophia and her father Aulfric were actually both Sidhe in human form.” 

_“What?”_ Leon gaped, eyes wide. 

“Their plan was to enchant Arthur and sacrifice him to the Sidhe elders in order to regain entrance to Avalon…and it very nearly succeeded.” Gaius’ expression grew fierce. “They paid for that transgression with their lives.” 

Sir Leon goggled. “ _Merlin?_ He…he…?” 

He couldn’t even _imagine_ Merlin—the same clumsy manservant who gave disapproving looks to Arthur if he even so much as snared a rabbit—killing anyone, let alone bring himself to say the words out loud. 

Gaius responded to the question Leon had been trying to ask. “Merlin did what was necessary to protect the prince.” 

Leon nodded woodenly. As Arthur’s First Knight, it was a concept he understood well. He just never thought he’d see a day when it would apply to Arthur’s servant as well. 

“I’d…better go find a safe place for these,” he said, still feeling a bit wrong-footed in the wake of this new revelation. 

“Thank you, Leon, for being willing to assist Merlin with his troubles…especially knowing what you now know of him.” 

“Well, Arthur trusts him, and I trust Arthur. Besides, from what you’ve just told me, clearly Arthur’s trust is well-founded.” Leon put a friendly hand on the old man’s back as they descended the steps into the main room of Gaius’ chambers. “In the meantime, I would suggest you go about your duties as if it were any other day. Perhaps even check in on the king’s health as you would have done were he ill. It should lend credence to the lie.” 

“Good idea,” Gaius said with a firm nod of his head. 

“Just take care,” Sir Leon warned. “The king is not nearly as addle-brained as he has been these past months. He seemed very much the Uther of old.” 

“My thanks to you, but do not worry. I am well versed in the art of… _diplomacy_ when it comes to Uther,” Gaius reassured the younger man. 

_Deception is more like it,_ Leon thought but did not say aloud. He wondered how many times in the past six years that Gaius had lied barefaced to his king for Merlin’s sake, and then decided that he really didn’t want to know. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if what Leon was currently doing was any more circumspect. 

“Very well. Gwaine or I shall let you know if there are any changes to the plan.” 

Gaius had his hands clasped behind his back in that way that he often did. “Thank you, Sir Leon.” 

With a polite nod and a smile, Leon took his leave. 

Gwen was standing on the first landing of the main staircase speaking with Elyan when she saw Arthur quietly slip behind her brother and continue on up the stairs without acknowledging either of them. 

Her eyes followed his movement. Something about the look on his face troubled her. Distractedly, she made her excuses to her brother and then turned to follow Arthur up the stairs at a distance. She caught up with him in the hallway outside of his rooms. 

She called out after him tentatively, “My lord?” 

It didn’t escape Gwen’s notice that his shoulders tensed minutely before he turned to face her. “Ah, Guinevere! Just the person I’ve been looking for.” 

Gwen looked about the rather crowded hallway speculatively. Had that been true, he could have easily stopped to speak to her on the stairs. Therefore, she deduced that this conversation was clearly for show and meant to be overheard. She stepped closer to him and bent her head respectfully. “Yes, my lord? How may I assist you?” 

“Merlin is a bit, uh, indisposed at the moment. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping out with some of his duties until he returns?” While Arthur’s face showed no outward emotion, the glint in his eyes as he stared at her looked wild. 

Gwen itched to ask Arthur what he meant by that, but knew instinctively that he was asking her without words to be a party to his charade. Therefore she nodded and gave him a polite but not-too-friendly smile. “Of course, My Lord. I shall get started on the tidying right away.” She walked past him and opened the door to his chambers. 

Minutes later, as she was reaching to place a handful of dirty clothes into a basket, she heard his chamber door snick closed. Looking up, she smiled happily as Arthur crossed the room toward her. 

“What was that all ab—” Gwen’s question died on her lips as Arthur suddenly enveloped her in his arms and nearly crushed her to his chest. She could feel the way his heart was hammering against his rib cage and his breathing hitched as he buried his face in her hair. Reflexively, she raised her arms and stroked the line of his back. 

“Arthur…” she soothed, as she felt his nose press into the space just behind her ear. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Everything,” he murmured, pulling his face back at last to meet Gwen’s concerned gaze. His eyes were wet. 

Gwen cradled Arthur’s face in her hands, gently wiping at his eyes with her thumbs. “What’s happened?” 

“It’s my father,” Arthur said with a deep sigh, taking a step back to break contact between them. 

“What about your father?” Gwen didn’t know what to do with her hands now that Arthur was out of reach, so she settled for clasping them in front of herself. “I heard from the cook that he fell ill overnight?” 

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before words finally came out. “Yes, he did. But Merlin hea—treated him and he got better.” 

“Merlin did?” 

“Yes, Gaius was up all night with my father, so Merlin took over his care to give Gaius a rest.” 

Gwen gave Arthur a dubious look. “But you said that the king got better, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that my father thinks he saw Merlin do magic and had him arrested for sorcery.” 

Gwen reached out and grasped Arthur’s hands comfortingly. “But your father is…not competent. Everyone knows that; that’s why you’ve been acting as Regent.” 

“That’s precisely the problem, Guinevere. When he awoke a little while ago, he was not like he has been since Morgana…” Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, “…left us. He was completely lucid again.” 

“Except for the fact that he believes that Merlin was performing sorcery on him, you mean. Surely, people won’t take that seriously?” 

“They already have,” Arthur admitted with a grimace. “My father had Merlin thrown in the dungeon and told me in no uncertain terms that _he_ was the king and I was to do as he commanded.” 

“Oh, dear.” 

“I’ve tried, but thus far I cannot get him to see reason. He’s…it’s dangerous. He seems rational enough otherwise that I’m not sure that the Council won’t believe him.” 

Arthur slipped his hands out from Gwen’s grasp and started pacing the floor, his fingers combing messily through his golden locks. “It’s all my fault…” 

“How is this your fault?” Gwen asked. 

“Because I _asked_ him,” Arthur explained frustratedly. “I asked Merlin to…tend to my father’s illness.” 

“Asking Merlin makes perfect sense, Arthur. Your manservant or no, he is still also Gaius’ apprentice. He’s a very capable healer in his own right. And you could not have known what your father would do,” Gwen reasoned. 

Arthur shook his head and kept pacing. “No, I should have foreseen it. I should have been better prepared.” 

Gwen walked into Arthur’s path to make him stop. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Arthur. Merlin doesn’t blame you, I’m sure.” 

Arthur tugged at the roots of his hair with his fingers. “Of course he doesn’t, but that’s because he’s a self-sacrificing _idiot_. I should have…protected him from this somehow.” 

Gwen gently detangled Arthur’s hands from his hair. “I’m sure everything will work out,” she soothed with a smile. “The Council will be made to see reason. Merlin has lived in Camelot for more than six years. Were he an evil sorcerer, certainly he would have done something by now.” 

Arthur sighed deeply and bowed his head. “I might not have been able to protect Merlin, but I am not going to make the same mistake with you.” Arthur cradled Gwen’s hands between his own and raised them to his lips for a moment before releasing them. 

Cocking her head to the side quizzically, Gwen asked, “What do you mean?” 

Arthur spoke almost as if it was to himself. “I thought that my father’s condition would not improve; that I would be free to make certain…decisions with my life. But this morning has proven to me that my assumptions were wrong. The implementation of my plans was unfortunately…premature.” 

Gwen felt a lump of dread growing in her stomach as Arthur continued, “I almost lost you once because of my father; I refuse to make that mistake a second time.” 

“But, Arthur…I—” 

“If anything, my father is even more dangerous now because I don’t know how much he remembers from these past months. So many times, we spoke of our love in front of him; embraced even…” 

Tears pricked at Gwen’s eyes. “Are you telling me that you think that we…shouldn’t be together anymore?” 

Arthur reached up as if to brush away the wetness, but then let his arm drop heavily to his side. “I am sorry. It is not what I want, but I fear that we have no choice. While my father remains lucid, we must give him no reason to suspect. It is the only way to keep you safe.” 

Gwen raised her chin and demanded, “What if I don’t care? I love you and want to be with you.” 

“Please do not ask this of me, Guinevere,” Arthur pleaded. “Merlin is already in mortal peril because of me. I could not bear it if you were as well.” 

Gwen bent her head in defeat and let her tears fall. “How long?” 

“What?” 

“How long must we be apart?” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes trained on the floor. “We have waited so long already.” 

“Until it is safe to be together,” Arthur replied solemnly, his eyes looking everywhere but at her pained expression. 

“Or, in other words, not until you become king,” Gwen accused, her eyes flashing with annoyance and pain. “And that could be years from now.” 

“I was wrong to think it could be otherwise,” Arthur said humbly. After a long, tense pause, he continued, “I will understand if this asks too much of you. I only want for you to be happy, truly.” 

“At this moment, I’m not sure that’s possible,” Gwen mumbled, her voice full of sorrow. “But I accept that you believe this is for the best.” 

Trying valiantly to hold in her sorrow and despair, Gwen lifted her skirts slightly and curtseyed to the prince as if she were a simple maidservant rather than the Crown Prince’s former love interest. “If you would excuse me, my lord,” she said neutrally, and then excused herself from the room. 

Gaius was startled by the door to Uther’s chambers opening unceremoniously just as he was reaching for the handle. He stepped aside just in time to avoid two serving boys hurrying from the room laden down with baskets of laundry and bedding. 

Uther’s voice boomed out after them, “And send for Edgar immediately! I require a shave and trim.” 

The king’s eyes narrowed shrewdly as he spied the physician through the open door. “Ah, Gaius,” he drawled, “just the man I wanted to see. Come in and shut the door.” 

Gaius’ eyes widened for a moment, but then he bowed his head once in submission and replied, “Of course, Sire.” 

The king was up and dressed and perfectly groomed, save for the three day old beard and his damp hair that had the audacity to curl a bit around his ears. As he had his back turned to shut the chamber door, Gaius thought with a sigh, _Only you, Merlin, could heal the king_ too _well…_

“You are looking very well this afternoon, my lord,” Gaius said once he’d turned back to face the king. 

“So I’ve been told…repeatedly…by everyone I’ve seen,” Uther answered, one eyebrow cocked. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Gaius?” 

“You have not been…yourself for some time, Sire.” 

“I see,” Uther replied cryptically. He stalked over toward the long table that was still near his bedside. He waved a hand toward the array of items that still littered its surface and demanded, “Explain to me, in detail, what each of these items are and what they are used for.” He turned a gimlet eye on the physician and continued menacingly, “And do not even _think_ of lying to me.” 

Gaius walked over to stand beside the king calmly. He reached over and grabbed the smudge stick. “This is a combination of sage and rosemary, my lord. It is often used in a sick room to remove stale air and facilitate healing.” He put it down and grabbed an unmarked bottle in each hand. “And these are chamomile and yarrow extracts.” 

“Chamomile is used in healing stomach upset, inflammation, and other assorted maladies. Yarrow relieves pain, helps digestion, helps break fevers.” Gaius set the bottles down and clasped his hands together in front of him, waiting. 

“And why are they here?” 

“You may not recall, Sire, but you were very ill last night after Arthur’s anniversary feast.” 

Uther rubbed his fingers and thumb against his forehead as if trying to tease out the memory. “I recall something quite different,” he admitted sternly. “Arthur had come to visit me, and…there was an assassin…Arthur… _Arthur_ was unwell. The man…the knife wielder…he meant to kill my son. And I…I stopped him. But he…” Uther looked down at his stomach with a look of puzzlement. 

“Ah, well, the mind does do strange things when one is in the grips of a high fever, my lord.” 

Uther’s eyes narrowed again. “A fever, you say? And who told you this?” 

“No one, Sire. I saw it with my own eyes. I was called upon to treat you.” 

“You were here?” Uther’s eyebrows scrunched together in apparent confusion and he began to pace. “Why do I not remember this?” 

“You were delirious with fever by the time I arrived, Sire.” 

Uther’s forehead wrinkled as the king struggled to remember this version of events. 

“I’m glad to see you doing much better today,” Gaius offered carefully, trying to lead the conversation without seeming to. 

“Yes. I am feeling very well,” Uther’s tone was inscrutable. 

“The medicine I had Merlin administer must have helped,” Gaius offered. 

“ _Merlin,_ ” Uther repeated the name bitterly. “Yes, Gaius, I would like to speak with you regarding your… _ward_ …” 

Gaius schooled his features into one of implacable calm. “Yes, my lord? Is there a problem?” 

Uther stepped closer to the physician and long-time friend and studied his expression carefully. “Tell me, Gaius…is there anything about Merlin that I should know?” 

Gaius knew that the king’s physical proximity was meant to intimidate him, but he had played this particular game of chicken too many times to give anything away. “None that I can think of, my lord,” he replied calmly, although his heart was hammering inside his chest. 

“Hmm.” Uther rubbed his chin and began to pace again. “I have been informed by my staff that during my period of infirmity, Arthur has been made Regent. Is this true?” 

“It is, Sire.” 

“And I assume it would take the vouchsafe of a physician to reverse that ruling.” 

Gaius cocked his head curiously. “Yes, I suppose it would.” 

“Then you will go to the Council immediately and give them one.” Uther’s sharp command made it clear he would brook no arguments on the matter. 

“But my lord,” Gaius demurred, “there is a procedure that must be followed. Assessments taken place over the course of several days are required before I—” 

Uther cut him off sharply. “If you want to save your ward from the pyre, I suggest you do as I command. Now.” 

Gaius blanched. “Sire, would you really condemn an innocent man to death for simply the wait of a few days’ time?” 

“Innocent!” Uther snorted. “Then I take it you have not yet heard.” 

Gaius’ eyebrows drew together in apparent confusion. “Apparently not, my lord.” 

“Merlin has been arrested,” Uther sniffed. 

“On what charge?” Gaius demanded. “I know the boy can be a bit obtuse at times, Sire, but I cannot imagine he would have displeased you so much as to—” 

“For sorcery,” Uther spat at him, interrupting the physician. 

Suddenly, their conversation felt more like it was an elaborate game of chess. Gaius knew that how well he played his part in this moment might very well be what would save or damn his ward. “Sorcery!” His eyes widened with an appropriate amount of shock. “Surely there must be some kind of mistake.” 

“I think not,” Uther denied flatly. “He was attempting to enchant me. I saw it with my own eyes.” 

“Merlin would never do anything to harm you, Sire,” Gaius replied truthfully. “He has been a faithful subject of Camelot ever since he moved here more than six years ago.” 

“His entire person was glowing,” Uther insisted flatly. “Certainly, that is not normal.” 

“Are you quite sure? You _were_ recovering from a grave illness. The mind can play very curious tricks on people when they are ill.” 

“A convincing argument, and yet, I am not swayed. I must uphold my own laws, Gaius. If I do not tolerate magic anywhere else in Camelot, certainly you cannot expect me turn a blind eye to a sorcerer within my own household—even if that sorcerer is your ward.” 

“Sire, I beg you to see reason. You have said more than once that Merlin was uncommonly loyal to Arthur. He has served your son very well; risked his life for him several times. Those are not the actions of a man bent on destroying Camelot.” 

“You well know that sorcerers play by their own rules. He could be biding his time; waiting to strike until Arthur comes into power.” 

“Arthur has been serving as your Regent for almost a year, my lord. Were that Merlin’s intention, then he would have had ample opportunity..” 

“A Regency is _not_ a Kingship. Arthur still has to answer to the Council as Regent. A king would not.” 

“So you would have Merlin condemned based upon the dubious reality of a fever dream? Forgive me, Sire, but the king I used to know would have at least based his rulings on _fact_.” 

“Because you will not reinstate my kingship, you leave me with no choice! I cannot leave my son in charge of this kingdom not knowing if his manservant has ensorcelled him. Even now, he could be planning any number of abominations against me and this kingdom.” 

_Check._

Gaius hesitated, trying to determine the best way to keep Merlin out of Uther’s crosshairs, _This is not good. Giving Uther back his kingdom might appease him enough to decide that what he saw was not real. But, I dare not reinstate him, no matter how sane he currently sounds. If he is not considered competent, Merlin might still have a chance. If the Council believes that the charges was just more of Uther’s ravings, then—_

Uther interrupted the physician’s musings. “I can see where your mind leads you, Gaius. You forget how well I know you. You are strategising the best outcome for your ward.” He walked forward and put and almost-friendly hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I can respect that; were I you, I would do the same.” 

But then Uther stepped into Gaius’ personal space and towered over him menacingly. “But remember this: Camelot is no friend to sorcerers and there are many who share my view. You must know that whether I am in power or not, there are those in this city that would gladly do my bidding and rid the city of the plague of even one accused of sorcery.” 

_Check._

“However,” Uther continued slyly, “were you to restore my crown, I _could_ be persuaded to other action. Rather than simply passing judgement on him, I would allow Merlin the chance to prove his innocence.” 

“But until I get to the bottom of this, I do not want my son in a position of power that could potentially be abused by another. You will reinstate me as king.” 

“And in return for this _service_ ,” Gaius drawled sarcastically, “you will guarantee Merlin a fair trial? You will allow him to defend himself against these charges? You will allow others to speak on his behalf?” 

“I assure you, Merlin will be given ample opportunity to save or damn himself.” 

_Check._

As Gaius’ expression began to falter, Uther made his final move. 

“Do not be foolish, Gaius. If you want to have any chance to save your ward, you will reinstate my power as king and revoke Arthur’s Regency immediately. Those are the terms that I require in exchange for not using my still-considerable influence to send Merlin directly to the pyre.” 

_Checkmate._

Gaius lowered his head and sighed in defeat. “Very well. I will speak to the Council right away, my lord.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old English Spell Glossary:
> 
> _Hæte:_ Heat. 
> 
> _Eac þéos wyrtung, Ic i áfeorme ðu:_ With these herbs, I cleanse you. 
> 
> _Ic i átíefre þéos tácn helpan lácnunge ðu:_ I add this rune to help you heal. 
> 
> _Efen cume ætgædre, éalá gástas cræftige: gestricie þis líc forod:_ Fully come together, lo powerful spirits: mend this broken-down body.


	3. The Once and Present King

Arthur was the last person to be summoned for the emergency Council session. Entering the room, he was startled to see a very grim-faced Gaius standing at the end of the table, waiting for everyone to be seated. The prince seated himself at the head of the table as usual, staring at the physician, trying to will the old man to look at him so he could gauge the man’s mood. 

It wasn’t until an impatient Agravaine demanded, “We’re all here; now what the devil is all this about?” that Gaius looked up, although he never quite met the prince’s eyes. 

Arthur felt a shiver of foreboding at the blank and desolate look upon the healer’s face. Somehow, he looked ten years older than he had that morning. _The news of Merlin’s arrest must have hit him quite hard_ , Arthur thought, his heart going out to the man. 

“I bear glad tidings for Camelot,” Gaius began, although the weariness with which he said the words made them sound grave rather than joyous. 

“What is it, Gaius?” Geoffrey of Monmouth asked, his snowy white eyebrows raised in question. 

“As you know, the king took to his bed after Arthur’s celebration with a high fever, stomach upset, and delirium. The onset was so sudden that I feared the malady was contagious.” 

“As we were so informed this morning,” Sir Hector responded with a tone that suggested he had more important things to be doing than this. “I assume the king’s health has improved, then?” 

“Remarkably so,” Gaius agreed. “Once the fever passed, the king’s mental health also improved. He is now as he ever was.” 

_That_ got everyone’s attention. The table was a sea of wide eyes and stunned looks. Finally, the silence was broken by Sir Cador. “Do you mean to say that Uther—” 

“—no longer has need of a Regent,” a familiar, stern voice concluded from behind them. 

Multiple heads craned in the direction of the servants entrance of the Council Chambers where an immaculately dressed, freshly shaved, and shorn Uther stood in all his regal glory. 

There was the scraping sound of multiple chair legs as the members of the Council hastened to stand. “My lord,” many of them murmured and bowed their heads reverently. 

Uther walked forward to stand beside his son. He leveled a knowing look at Arthur and raised one eyebrow. 

“Father,” Arthur acknowledged, carefully ensuring that not one drop of sarcasm or frustration could be heard in the word. He was not exactly certain what his father was planning, but Arthur was sure that any show of rebellion now would be detrimental to his cause of saving Merlin. He stepped aside and motioned toward the chair at the head of the table that he had just vacated. “Please, sit,” he said deferentially. 

“Thank you,” Uther replied, his voice just as controlled. The king seated himself and raised his eyes. His gaze bored into the physician still standing at the other end of the table. 

“A...As you can see,” Gaius continued once the rest of the Council was seated, “the king is no longer unfit to rule. I recommend that we restore his rights of kingship, effective immediately.” 

There was a small amount of murmuring as the Council members spoke amongst themselves at this surprising development. Finally, Sir Hector leaned forward and looked up the table at Uther. “Beg pardon, my lord, but…” and then turned his head toward Gaius. “Is there not a due process involved? A required waiting period before the reinstatement?” 

Before the physician could answer, Uther spoke on his own behalf. “A formality in this case, surely. It is quite clear that I have recovered from my infirmity, is it not?” 

“It appears so, Sire,” Hector acknowledged politely, “but…” 

“Then there should be no problem,” Uther concluded. Staring down the table at the court historian, he demanded, “Geoffrey, what say you?” 

Geoffrey of Monmouth seemed startled to be singled out in this way. “I…well, I…this is highly irregular, my lord.” 

“Yes,” Uther stated impatiently, “but can it be done?” 

“It can, Your Highness.” Geoffrey admitted, looking speculatively first at his old friend Gaius’ gaunt face, and then at the very stoic Arthur. “But the only way to do so without the required waiting period would be if Prince Arthur to gave up his right to the Regency voluntarily.” 

Uther looked over his shoulder at his son expectantly. “Arthur?” he questioned. 

But Arthur’s eyes were centered on Gaius. It was clear that something was going on between his father and the physician that he was not privy to, and he was unsure of how he was to proceed to best protect their mutual interest. But then Gaius closed his eyes wearily and bowed his head slightly and Arthur had his answer. 

He glanced down at his father and smiled hollowly. “Of course I will give up my rights of Regency for you, Father,” he said woodenly, feeling numb. “I am glad to have you back.” 

“Thank you, Arthur,” Uther replied graciously, and then said, “I appreciate your loyalty and faith,” which was most certainly code for, _Remember what we spoke of earlier and who you answer to._

“My lord,” Arthur inclined his head in recognition of both the spoken and the unspoken. 

“You and Gaius may be excused,” Uther said cordially, nodding toward the chamber door pointedly. Then he smiled at the remainder of the Council pleasantly. “For the rest of you, this will only take a moment, and you will soon be back with your families and friends.” 

Arthur aimed a quick look of alarm at Gaius before nodding his head once in his father’s direction. “Of course, Father. We can meet later if you like, go over what has been done in your…absence.” 

“Very good,” Uther answered dismissively, and it was clear to Arthur that no such discussion would ever take place. It was rather obvious, to Arthur at least, and—if he was reading some of the body language of various Council members correctly—others as well, that he was not currently in the king’s good graces. Most of them had probably even riddled out why. 

No matter how much Arthur teased Merlin about being a crap servant, he knew that Merlin was well-liked in the castle, and news of his arrest was sure to have spread like wildfire. Most likely all of the Citadel and half of the Lower Town had heard by now that the Prince’s own manservant had been charged with sorcery. And now his father wanted to speak to the Council alone, most likely about that very topic. It was not a very comforting thought. 

Arthur held his head up high as he walked the length of the table. He’d been taught never to show weakness in the presence of an adversary, and it felt as if he were currently in a room full of them. “Gaius,” he said quietly, ushering the man before him politely and opening the door for the old man when they approached it. Arthur turned in the doorway and bowed. “Gentlemen.” He bowed formally a second time. “My lord,” he intoned and then shut the chamber door behind him. 

Arthur took the limited opportunity to question the physician directly. He waited until they were out of earshot of the guards protecting the Council chambers and then pulled Gaius into a secluded alcove. “What is going on, Gaius? What was all that about?” 

“I am sorry, Arthur,” Gaius apologised profusely, “but I had no way of warning you. I feared that we both may be under watch and didn’t want to arouse any suspicion.” 

“It is I who should be apologising to you,” Arthur admitted softly, placing a comforting hand on the physician’s arm. “I promised to protect him. I didn’t do a very good job.” 

Gaius shook his head as if rejecting the very notion. “I have every faith that you did the best that you could. Merlin has a way of attracting trouble much like nectar attracts bees.” 

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed ruefully. “I visited him in the cells, you know; begged him to escape.” 

“I expect he refused,” Gaius predicted. 

“He did, apparently for _both_ our sakes.” 

“That boy,” Gaius shook his head despairingly. “Always putting everyone else above himself.” 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder warily to ensure they were not being observed and then asked, “What news of my father?” 

“It is certain that your father’s wits truly have returned, as has his hatred of all things magic. He believes he has the right of it where Merlin is concerned and fears you might be ensorcelled. For that reason, he wanted you out of power as soon as possible and threatened Merlin with immediate execution if I did not cooperate.” 

Arthur massaged his temples with his fingers and sighed. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“But…we may yet be able to clear him of the charges. Your father agreed to give Merlin a fair trial in exchange for my help. We can only hope that he stays true to his word.” 

“Then I will hope for the best, but I will definitely be planning for all possibilities,” Arthur said soberly. “I will not allow Merlin to die.” 

Gaius bowed his head gratefully, “I thank you, Sire. I can understand how difficult a choice this must be for you.” 

“On the contrary, Gaius; it’s not difficult at all.” 

Uther waited for several moments after Arthur and Gaius have left before speaking. “As I am sure you have gathered, what I wish to discuss involves both Arthur and Gaius.” 

“So, the rumours about Arthur’s manservant are true?” Geoffrey of Monmouth ventured timidly when no one else dared ask. 

“Yes,” Uther stated flatly. “I caught the boy in the midst of an enchantment. It was obvious that he thought me still addle-brained and unable to speak against him. Or perhaps that was a curse of his own making as well; I know not.” A stunned silence followed that proclamation. 

“I also feared the possibility that, since he has been at Arthur’s side for these many years, the sorcerer might have cast a spell over Arthur as well. Arthur spoke in his defense quite ardently at the time, although I own that it may have been from the initial shock of betrayal by someone so close to him. Nonetheless, I could not afford to take any chances. I’m sure you can understand now why it was necessary to subvert the normal waiting period and return to power immediately.” 

The Council members muttered amongst themselves and nodded their heads gravely. 

“And naturally, Gaius also needed to be excluded. He considers Merlin a surrogate son and could not be trusted to look upon this subject with an unbiased eye.” 

Uther stood and steepled his fingers against the table. “Therefore, in lieu of tomorrow morning’s meeting, we will hold a trial for the traitor, Merlin.” 

“A trial?” Sir Hector stammered. “But…have you not already passed judgment, Sire?” 

“I have. However, I have offered the _illusion_ of a trial as a balm for poor Gaius, who has been a loyal friend to me and to Camelot both for many years. He could not fathom that the boy could have deceived him in this manner and is sure of his innocence. But once the sorcerer’s guilt has been exposed, he will see reason; I am sure of it.” 

“Is it not possible that the boy could have ensorcelled the physician as well?” Sir Agravaine suggested mildly. 

Uther turned and stared at his wife’s brother for a long moment before narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “I suppose that is also a possibility. After all, I find it hard to believe that Gaius would willingly harbour a sorcerer in our midst. Therefore, his mind might also have been touched. But it is of no matter. Once the sorcerer burns, all will return to as it should be.” 

As the Council meeting broke, Agravaine turned to Uther and exclaimed heartily, “I must say, Brother, that it is a blessing to see you well again after so many months.” 

Uther’s welcome was not nearly as friendly. “Agravaine! I must confess that I am surprised to see you here,” he answered dryly. “I thought you swore to never again set foot in Camelot after what happened with Tristan.” 

A blush bloomed on Agravaine’s cheeks as he demurred, “That was many years ago when we were both full of much more fire and vigor. Time has shown me that Tristan was clearly in the wrong. It is all water under the bridge now, surely. And besides, how could I refuse the summons of my sister’s only son when he required my assistance?” 

Uther harrumphed begrudgingly. “Then I thank you for your service to Arthur. How fares your family?” 

“My Sarah has been gone these past five years,” Agravaine said mournfully, “and the girls have moved on with families of their own.” 

The king clapped a commiserative hand to his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I am sorry to hear of your loss. Perhaps being here in Camelot will provide you with a new lease on life.” 

Agravaine smiled thoughtfully. “Perhaps it will.” 

As Uther made to leave the room, Agravaine fell into step beside him. “I was surprised to hear the news about the boy Merlin,” he remarked innocently. “He seemed like quite an affable fellow; well-liked in the castle.” 

Uther grunted noncommittally. 

“In addition to being Arthur’s manservant, he is also Gaius’ apprentice, is he not?” Agravaine asked delicately. 

“I believe that Gaius has been teaching him about the healing arts, yes,” Uther admitted. 

“Well then I wondered…since the boy seems so hapless otherwise, is it not possible…?” Agravaine trailed off, leaving the end of the question dangling. 

Uther’s eyes flashed dangerously as he turned on his brother-in-law, stopping in his tracks. “No, it is not. I know what I saw and you will not dissuade me from it. Magic is a plague on this land and cannot be tolerated, even in its smallest measurement. I would have thought that you, of all people, would recognise that.” 

Agravaine put up both hands in a sign of surrender. “Of course, Brother! I only meant to…” 

“You only meant to infer that my mind is perhaps not quite as recovered as it should be. Take care, Brother, for your line of query does you no favours.” 

Agravaine sketched a deep bow. “My apologies, my lord. I shall not question your motives again.” 

“Very good,” Uther said, and appeared mollified by Agravaine’s grovelling. Uther resumed his brisk pace and Agravaine had to nearly jog to keep up with him. 

“Have you considered the possibility that someone may try to free him?” 

“Naturally. I know that Arthur has already been down to see him, but nothing came of it. Nonetheless, I have ensured that there will be no more of that. No one will be allowed to enter that part of the dungeons tonight, not even the servant that normally delivers the evening repast.” 

“You are starving the boy?” Agravaine asked in surprise. 

Uther shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. “It is not our normal way to withhold food from prisoners; but in this case, I believe it is a necessary evil in order to protect against an even greater one. I’m not about to let him escape. Besides, thin though he may be, I very much doubt that the sorcerer will expire due to one missed meal. Although if he did, it would at least save me the firewood.” 

“Indeed,” Agravaine agreed sycophantically. “Speaking of repast, I think I shall take in some refreshment. Would you care to join me, my lord?” 

“I think not, for I have already planned to have an evening in. I mean to go over some of the more recent policy changes Arthur put into place while I was unwell. Perhaps they will provide me with even more evidence of the sorcerer’s perfidy.” 

“Very well, Brother. Perhaps another time.” 

Agravaine bowed his head deferentially and Uther nodded him away with the distracted air of a man obsessed. 

Agravaine barely noticed the king’s curt dismissal. Today’s astounding new developments had certainly given Agravaine a lot to think about…and much to impart to his Mistress. He had no doubt that she would find a way to turn these startling events to their favour. 

It didn’t take long for Arthur’s day to go from very bad to even worse. He had barely got through the door to his chambers when a fist connected hard with his jaw, knocking him to the floor. Before Arthur could even unsheath his sword, he found himself yanked up to his knees by a handful of shirt and held at swordpoint by an incensed Gwaine. The position was eerily similar to the one Arthur had Merlin in just hours before. 

“I should have known,” Gwaine spit bitterly, staring down the length of his blade at the prince, his eyes flashing with anger. 

“Known what?” Arthur gritted out past the neck of his shirt pulled taut by Gwaine’s fist. 

“That you really are a right bastard,” Gwaine responded with a sneer. “Merlin always said you were different: that you were noble and trustworthy; that you were going to change things, make them better. But you’re not, are you? Once a Pendragon; always a Pendragon. You’re still a magic-hating _fuckwit_ with no soul or conscience. How could you do this to him when all he ever did was believe in you!” 

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to control his own ire. After all, Gwaine was known for being a bit of a hot head and he couldn’t exactly fault the man’s devotion to Merlin when he felt the same way. “Gwaine,” he said in a very calm and even tone, “please calm down and let me explai—” 

Gwaine’s fist only tightened further around the handful of tunic at Arthur’s neck, effectively cutting him off. “You’ve got nothing to say that I want to hear. Merlin’s been completely devoted to you and _this_ is how you thank him after saving your father’s worthless life?” 

Arthur put one hand up over Gwaine’s and yanked hard to relieve some of the pressure at his throat. “Whatever it is that you think happened, Gwaine, I can pretty much assure you it did not.” 

With a snarl, Gwaine shoved Arthur away from him and started pacing back and forth across the room like a caged bear. “Oh, so you mean Merlin _isn’t_ currently languishing in the deepest, darkest part of the dungeon right now after being accused of sorcery?” 

The prince pushed himself up from his knees and stood, massaging his throat reflexively. “No,” Arthur said bitterly, his own mouth forming a thin line of displeasure, “unfortunately that part is true. But the point I was trying to make was that _I didn’t do it_. My father woke up, saw what Merlin was doing, and had him arrested.” 

“What the fuck difference does that make? You still let him do it!” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “One doesn’t _let_ the King of Camelot do anything, Gwaine.” 

“By all the Gods, the old blighter isn’t even sane! Why would anyone even believe him? You’re the Regent, so go down there and fix this!” 

Arthur dropped wearily into a chair at his dining table and pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back frustrated tears. “Your intelligence is old, Gwaine. My father is now as sane as he ever was. He had my Regency revoked an hour ago.” 

“Not very sane, then,” Gwaine said with a mocking lilt to his voice. 

“Gwaine…” Arthur said with admonishment, “now is not the time for jokes. And by all that’s holy, stop your bloody pacing. You’re giving me a headache.” 

Gwaine’s sword clanged noisily against the table as he chucked it onto the wooden surface with a snarl. Arthur looked up blearily from rubbing his forehead and gave him a mightily displeased look. “Sit,” he commanded without preamble. 

The knight slouched into the seat opposite Arthur. The prince rolled his eyes and shook his head. _Leave it to Gwaine to figure out a way to even_ sit _disrespectfully…_

“So you knew, then? About Merlin?” Arthur felt a pang in his chest as he asked the question, because Merlin had told him that no one else knew. 

Gwaine didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s discomfort. “Nah,” he said, slouching even lower in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Had some pretty strong suspicions, though.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Well, Merlin’s always been a little bit…different, you know?” 

_There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it…_ Arthur’s heart unexpectedly skipped a beat. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Then there was that whole ‘Courage, Strength, and Magic’ thing in the Perilous Lands. If you were ‘Courage’ and I was ‘Strength,’ then what does that leave? Can’t believe you didn’t pick up on that bit, Princess.” 

Arthur closed his eyes and groaned weakly. How could he have been so blind? He supposed that he’d been too focused on the quest at the time to ponder the bridge keeper’s strange words. 

“And Gaius said that no mortal could survive a Dorocha’s touch, yet Merlin did it. Must’ve taken a powerful bit o’magic to do that.” 

Arthur had to force back the rising panic he felt just thinking of those tense moments between when Merlin had jumped into the path of the Dorocha and when he’d started breathing again. “Must’ve done,” Arthur responded woodenly. 

Gwaine sat up straighter and studied Arthur’s face for a moment. “You really didn’t know, did you?” Gwaine asked, although his tone suggested he already knew the answer. 

“No, I didn’t. Although it’s becoming increasingly obvious to me that I should have done.” 

“How did you find out, then?” 

“Because the idiot _told_ me, that’s how. I was desperate to find some way to save my father and he offered himself up like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.” 

Gwaine snorted. “Sounds like Merlin. That can’t have been a pleasant conversation, though.” 

“It had its rough spots,” Arthur admitted ruefully. 

“I imagine it did,” Gwaine agreed, “although it obviously turned out all right.” 

“If you call being accused of sorcery by my father all right,” Arthur snorted in self-disgust. 

“Yeah, that bit’s not ideal. I assume you have a plan, then?” 

“Working on one. The king does not know the true nature of what occurred last night, and we are all doing our best to keep it that way. Even Sir Leon lied directly to his face about it.” 

Gwaine’s eyes widened at that. “Leon? Straight-laced, upstanding, moral-to-a-fault Leon? I must say I’m surprised.” 

“I readily admit that it took me aback a bit at first as well. But Leon also doesn’t believe in injustice, and felt that executing someone for saving one’s life is not justice. To that end, Leon was successful in casting some doubt in my father’s mind. Gaius spoke to my father as well and swore to him that Merlin was only at his bedside in the guise of Physician’s Assistant.” 

“Which isn’t too far from wrong.” 

“Exactly. So, in light of their testimony and in deference to his long-time friendship with Gaius, he has agreed to give Merlin a trial.” 

Gwaine raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Why do I have a feeling _that’s_ not going to go so well?” 

“Probably because it isn’t, though it pains me to say it.” 

“So what happens then? Because you have to know that there’s no way I’m letting Uther kill Merlin. I don’t care what I have to do,” Gwaine said fiercely. 

“Stand down, Sir Knight,” Arthur practically growled. “If anyone’s going to be breaking Merlin out of prison, it’s going to be me.” 

“I’m sure your father would just love that! Why not just let me do it instead?” Gwaine suggested. “It’s not as if your father doesn’t already hate me.” Gwaine paused and then said quietly, “I’d take good care of Merlin; you wouldn’t have to worry.” 

“No,” Arthur insisted. “I appreciate the offer, Gwaine, but I made him a promise. I’m not about to go back on my word just because it might make my life a bit…uncomfortable.” 

“Uncomfortable?” Gwaine snorted. “You’ll be lucky if Uther doesn’t lock you up in his place!” 

“That’s a bridge I will cross if or when I come to it.” 

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest, brooding. 

“I mean it, Gwaine,” Arthur warned. 

“What?” Gwaine looked up disingenuously. 

“Don’t ‘What?’ me; I know that look. I’ve been around you far too long for you to fool me. You’re planning something stupid and reckless.” 

“No, I’m—” 

“Yes you _are_ ,” Arthur insisted knowingly. “I can see it in your eyes. The last thing I need whilst trying to plan a gaolbreak is _you_ as an unknown variable. I would much rather you work with me than against me.” 

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “So, what you’re saying is that you want me to help you with this little plan of yours.” 

“Rather than having you going off half-cocked like a loose cannon? Yes, I’d infinitely prefer that.” 

Gwaine leaned forward and nodded. “Brilliant. Then what are we going to do save our favourite sorcerer from the wrath of Uther?” 

“Warlock,” Arthur corrected automatically. 

“Really?” Gwaine whistled his approval. “Nice! I wish I’d known that earlier; think of all the great pranks we could have played…” 

“Trust me, I am,” Arthur deadpanned, “and the prospect is frankly terrifying.” 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, a tiny smile tilted Arhur’s lips up at the corners. He just couldn’t seem to help it. The thought that, while Gwaine might have been a more reasonable and safe choice for Merlin to confess his magic to, it had been _Arthur_ that Merlin had chosen to tell made him feel that much more important, cherished, and special. 

“All right, Princess…what’s that grin all about? Planning a few practical jokes of your own, are you?” 

Arthur startled out of his thoughts. “What? Oh. No, of course not.” 

“Then what’s the plan?” 

“If Merlin is actually sentenced to death, then it’s probable that the king will confine me to my chambers.” 

“Why do you think he’d do that?” 

“Because if I attempt to defend Merlin at all, he will think I’ve been enchanted.” 

“Ah. Of course he would. Carry on.” 

“So, tell Leon that I will try to send him a message to let him know that the plan proceeds. Leon is probably the only one of us that my father would still trust.” 

“And how will you get the message out to him if you’re cooped up in here?” 

“I plan for the message to be in code. If he hears from me that I want him to drill the men on maces in the morning, that is the sign.” 

“The two of you are to gather up Merlin’s things, as well as food and supplies for up to a week’s travel, and have them packed up and ready on a fast horse that is _not_ from Camelot’s stables. I would like you to be near the entrance to the Darkling Woods to meet Merlin and send him on his way. Tell him to head for the ruins of the Castle of the Ancient Kings. He should be safe there until I can come for him.” 

“I don’t think Merlin should travel all that way alone,” Gwaine demurred. “Perhaps I could just see him to the border and return? Make sure he’s all right?” 

Arthur shook his head vehemently. “I need you to be my eyes and ears here, Gwaine. I’m sorry.” 

Gwaine shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” 

“How exactly are you going to break Merlin out of the dungeon? If Uther publicly confines you to your room, everyone will know you don’t belong there, won’t they?” 

“Yes, well, this is where Gaius comes in.” 

“Gaius? What can he do to help us? Won’t he also be under house arrest?” 

“Probably. That’s why you’re going to see him tonight.” 

“All right. And what am I supposed to do once I get there?” 

“There are herbs that, when burned, create smoke that can put someone into a deep sleep. Gaius will know which ones they are. Get as much of them from him as you can.” 

“All right. What do you want me to do with it?” 

“You know the tapestry of the black and gold falcon that hangs near the servant’s entrance to the royal wing?” 

“I do,” Gwaine nodded. 

“Tuck the bundle of herbs, a flint and striker behind that tapestry. I will retrieve it from there.” 

A slow grin grew on Gwaine’s face. “A few smoking bundles in the right air vents later and everyone in the dungeon is down for the count, which means no warning bells.” 

“Exactly.” 

“But that’ll mean that Merlin will be knocked out, too.” 

“Not necessarily. He’s been working with Gaius for almost seven years. I would bet that he’ll recognize them and take precautions, but you make a good point. Perhaps you could mention it to Gaius and he could give you some sort of elixir that would counteract the effects.” 

“And what will we do if you are unable to send word?” 

“Tell Leon that if he does not hear from me by midnight, then the two of you are to proceed in my place as planned. Come hell or high water, I want Merlin out of Camelot by morning.” 

“I’m sure that Elyan and Percival would be happy to help Merlin as well.” 

Arthur was already shaking his head before Gwaine had even finished speaking. “No. I would like to limit the number of people involved in this conspiracy to the ones that were present when it began. With my father back in power, Elyan and Percival will need to keep their heads down and not draw any attention to themselves, lest he take his ire with me out on them. Besides, no matter who well meant, it’s not our secret to tell, Gwaine; it’s Merlin’s.” 

“You’re right. It’s just that I—” 

“Want Merlin to be safe,” Arthur finished with an understanding nod. “No more than I do, trust me.” 

Gwaine slowly smiled. “Yeah, I can see that.” He grabbed the pommel of his sword and then stood up to sheath it. 

“You know, Gwaine, it might be best if you relocated to the Lower Town for a while. Not that I want you to leave Camelot, but there’s no reason to tempt fate, either. If my father catches you, I will have no way to protect you from his judgment. If you’re not careful, you could be next on the chopping block.” 

Gwaine pursed his lips for a moment before flipping his fringe out of his eyes jauntily. “I’d like to see him try,” he said with a wink and then strode confidently from the room. 

Agravaine wasted no time after his discussion with Uther. He grabbed a quick repast from the kitchens and headed directly for the stables. The stable boy startled to see him twice in one day. 

“Another ride, M’lord?” he asked, his prepubescent voice cracking on the last word. 

“Yes. If you could saddle my horse forthwith, I would be greatly obliged.” 

“O’course, sir,” he said and scurried off to comply. In a matter of minutes, the boy had Agravaine’s horse blanketed and saddled. 

“If anyone is looking for me,” Agravaine said as he pulled himself up into the saddle, “tell them I shall be back before nightfall.” Then he flipped the boy a coin for his trouble. 

“Thank you, Sir!” the boy called after him as Agravaine nudged his horse into a trot. 

*****

The sun was low on the horizon when Agravaine reached the stream that abutted Morgana’s hut. He had barely unmounted when he his head was pulled backward violently by the hair and a sharp blade kissed his throat. 

“My…my lady!” Agravaine stammered breathlessly. 

“What brings you out so far twice in one day, Agravaine? Did you miss me already?” Morgana taunted as she shoved the man away from her and resheathed her dagger. 

“My lady, I have brought extraordinary news,” Agravaine panted, his heart still hammering in his chest. 

“Calm yourself. No need to succumb to apoplexy before you’ve even imparted your tale.” Morgana chastised as she turned her back on him and stalked away toward her home, leaving Agravaine to trail in her wake. 

Once they had both gained the dubious comfort of her abode, Morgana turned to glare at him. “Now what is this news that simply could not wait until morning?” 

“The king has recovered,” Agravaine began. 

Morgana turned her back on Agravaine coldly. “Every time you come here, you risk exposing me, and _this_ is what you choose to impart? You surprise me, Agravaine.” 

“No, my lady… I mean, he has recovered his _wits_.” 

Morgana turned back with one skeptical eyebrow raised. “Indeed? Well, then that _is_ interesting news. And how did he take seeing you in his precious Camelot?” 

Agravaine straightened his back and raised his chin with pride. “He was suspicious at first, naturally, but I was able to allay his fears. I led him to believe that I was there as Arthur’s mentor during his time of need.” 

“Very good,” Morgana said as if she were praising a trained hound. “Perhaps there will be a use for you yet.” 

“There is more,” Agravaine continued. “The boy Merlin has been arrested.” 

“Arrested?” Morgana asked with one delicate eyebrow raised. “On what charge?” 

Agravaine smirked. “The king has accused Arthur’s manservant of sorcery.” 

“Sorcery!” Morgana snorted with laughter. “Merlin? The king is not so well as originally thought if he can believe _that_ meddling oaf has magic.” 

“Nonetheless, it is true. The king is convinced that he witnessed Merlin perform magic at his bedside. It was more than likely the result of a fever dream, but no one dares speak against the king when he is so determined to see Merlin burn.” 

“Well then,” Morgana stroked the back of her fingers down Agravaine’s cheek affectionately, “we must do everything we can to assist the king with such a noble quest. After all,” Morgana purred with a smirk, “Arthur is strangely fond of the boy. Losing Merlin will all but destroy him. Therefore, the sooner we can get rid of the meddlesome brat, the better.” 

Arthur barely noticed the deep purples and blues of dusk slowly overtaking the shadows and corners of his room; the encroaching gloom seemed to fit his mood perfectly. The past 24 hours had been an impossible ride of highs and lows, so much so that he could scarcely believe it had all happened. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” could not have been a more appropriate adage to describe how Arthur felt. He had been so focused on trying to save his father’s life that he had failed to take into consideration what would happen to everyone else he cared about if he succeeded. 

The bitter sting of frustration filled him. It had been so long since his father had fully been himself that Arthur supposed he had built him up in his mind to be a different man, a _better_ man than he was. Arthur knew it was normal for a son to look up to his father, but the difference between what he’d believed his father to be and the cold reality of what he was had never been more jarring. 

It was as if knowing Merlin’s secret had removed a set of blinkers that Arthur had never known he’d worn. How had he never before seen how ruthless his father could be? How self-serving and cruel? Arthur suddenly felt that he was seeing his father for the first time, and what he saw terrified him: a bitter, lonely, hate-obsessed man that ruled with Camelot an iron fist and an unhealthy dose of fear. 

Arthur looked down at the letters, documents, and notes that littered his desk with a sigh. In the months since he had taken over the office of Regent, Arthur had never been so busy or felt so alive. It was as if everything had started falling into place, as if he had begun to find his way in the world, and that was due in no small part to Merlin. 

There had been so many times before he’d even come of age that Arthur had doubted a course of action his father wished to take or disagreed with his judgment, but he hadn’t dared speak of it. He’d craved his father’s miserly affection and approval too much to say anything against him no matter how much he’d wished to. 

It had taken the introduction of one unruly, clumsy, smart-mouthed peasant boy into his previously sheltered world to change all that. It hadn’t been long before he’d begun defying his father in deed as well as thought. 

Arthur shook his head and pursed his lips in exasperated fondness. Merlin’s courage and outspokenness had given Arthur the confidence in his own judgment that he’d sorely needed after years of being told that any path that was not his father’s way was wrong. 

Still, it had only been through a multitude of discussions with his manservant over the years that Arthur had really fleshed out the kind of leader he wanted to be. While Arthur had always thought that equality, fairness, compassion, and honour were the qualities he wanted to build the foundation of his kingdom on, he admitted that it had taken _Merlin’s_ belief in those selfsame ideals (and in him) to crystallise his will into action. 

And just as Merlin had predicted, Camelot’s people had responded to his more fair and balanced guiding hand like thirsty plants to the rain. Arthur was becoming known for his care and concern for his subjects regardless of class. People of all walks of life had approached the Regent with their problems and discovered that he was a man who was true to his word. He followed through when he said he would, and personally went on as many quests as possible so that the people in the outlying villages knew they were just as important to him as those that lived within the city walls. 

Arthur had no doubt that his father would be mortified when he heard of this. In fact, Arthur would be willing to bet that the king would not be pleased with a _great deal_ of what he had done. Yet, that thought didn’t sting as much as Arthur thought it might. With a great deal of surprise, he wondered how long ago Merlin’s good opinion became more important than his own father’s. 

The prince frowned and wondered whether that fact made him a bad son by definition…and then he heard the squeak of his chamber door opening. Glancing up hopefully, Arthur chided himself for being foolish for being disappointed when he saw it was Guinevere and not Merlin bringing his evening meal. 

“Guinevere,” Arthur greeted her with a cautious nod. 

Gwen’s tone was sharp in response. “My lord,” she said, making sure to curtsy once she’d set his meal tray on the desk in front of Arthur. 

Arthur knew her actions were meant to wound, and they did hurt…not the least for the poor timing of them. “I admit that I am a bit surprised to see you here after how we left things this afternoon,” Arthur admitted, his voice hushed and weary. 

“We were overhead, my lord,” Gwen reminded him pointedly as she began serving out his meal. “I couldn’t very well be seen as shirking my duties. I have little enough use to the Royal Household as it is.” 

Arthur sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Guinevere, you are under no obligation to serve me in this or any other respect if you find the prospect so detestable. You are welcome to choose someone else to serve me in Merlin’s stead. I just thought that, in light of the fact that Merlin is a close friend to both of us, you would be more willing to put our personal difficulties aside for the time being. Forgive me if I was mistaken.” 

Gwen’s head bowed with shame as Arthur’s admonishment hit its mark. “You’re right, of course,” she mumbled at the floor. “Merlin’s troubles are much greater than mine. I need to remember that.” 

“That reminds me,” Arthur said, a new determination in his voice as he noticed the food in front of him at last. “Do you know if the evening meals have been delivered to the dungeon?” 

“The meals are still being prepared, my lord,” Gwen informed him. 

Arthur hurriedly reached for a blank sheet of parchment and dipped his quill into the inkwell, hastily scratching out a note. “Then mayhap you could devise a way to get a note in to him?” 

Gwen shook her head and bit her lip. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” 

Arthur paused mid-word and looked up at her. “Why not?” he demanded, his voice tight with frustration. He thought angrily, _Does she not realise the things that Merlin has done in her defence when_ she _was imprisoned?_ before his reason returned. Of _course_ she didn’t know; Merlin had hidden his role in her salvation from everyone, including Guinevere. But Merlin was still her friend. Why would she not wish to help him? 

“Because your father has forbidden anyone to enter that part of the dungeon tonight, and that includes for the evening meal.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Are you sure?” 

Gwen nodded, her lips pursed in a clear sign of disapproval. “Quite. I was in the kitchen preparing your tray when the king’s servant came in to tell us. The message was quite clear. Not even the guards are allowed in that area until morning.” 

With eyes flashing dangerously, Arthur shoved the quill back into the ink pot hard enough to damage the tip and then balled up the half-written note and chucked it so hard that it bounced off the wall across the room and skittered under the bed. “This is an outrage! We have _never_ starved our prisoners in Camelot before. It’s barbaric!” 

“You are his son,” Gwen corrected. “Perhaps he is being unreasonable because he is viewing the situation as a father rather than as a king. As ridiculous as it seems to anyone that actually knows Merlin, the king believes he is a sorcerer that may have done you great harm.” 

“Great harm?” Arthur snorted. “Merlin? The only way Merlin could ever do me great harm is if he tripped over his own feet whilst carrying my sword and accidentally stabbed me with it. No, this is not about me at all, Guinevere. This about my father and his complete and total hatred of anything to do with magic.” 

“Well,” Gwen hedged, “magic _is_ rather dangerous.” 

“Of course it _can_ be, but so can a sword wielded by the wrong person. But I no longer think that magic itself is a force of evil. There have been too many times I have seen it used for good to believe otherwise.” 

Gwen tilted her head to the side as her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean? When have you seen it used for good?” 

Arthur mentally slapped himself. He dared not reveal Merlin’s secret, not even to Guinevere. His mind searched frantically for an example that did not include Merlin. Surprisingly, he didn’t have to work hard to find it. 

“The Dragonlord,” he explained. “Although it was quite clear that he despised my father, he still used his powers to heal me.” 

“When was this?” Gwen gasped, her hand fluttering up to cover her heart. 

“During our quest to find the Dragonlord, the wound I received from the dragon had become infected. Merlin told me that I had succumbed to fever and was very ill. Yet, the next morning when I awoke, not only was my fever gone, but the wound had healed itself. There is no explanation for that rapid a change in my condition other than a magical cure.” 

“Perhaps he did not realise your identity at the time?” 

“Oh, he had, for Merlin had tried to conceal my identity to him but—being the horrible liar that he is—the Dragonlord caught him out. He had no reason at all to want to help me, yet he did. Just like he agreed to return with us to fight the dragon. That was most certainly not for my father’s sake, but for the innocent people of Camelot. Despite his crusty exterior, Balinor was a man of honor. I have no doubts that he would have kept his promise had he not lost his life on the way.” 

“So sad,” Gwen said softly, grieving for the unknown man who’d intended to save them all from the dragon’s wrath. 

“And what about the Druids? They have been hunted and driven out of every corner of Camelot. Yet, they are a peaceful people. And they had the Cup of Life in their possession. We saw its awful power last year, yet, with all the reason Camelot had given for them to strike back, they did not. Instead, they used the Cup of Life for its healing properties, restoring Sir Leon’s life when he would surely have perished.” 

“I understand why my father hates magic; he lost my mother to its power. That experience has scarred him in ways that I fear may never be repaired. But he has become so obsessed with it that he jumps at shadows and sees danger lurking around every corner. What he is too blind to see is that Camelot has become a target for evil sorcery _because_ of his war on magic. While it is true that there are definitely evil sorcerers—for we have seen quite a few—I also believe that some people who might not have posed a threat otherwise were driven to their hatred and revenge. The sorceress Mary Collins was just such a one.” 

“Arthur!” Gwen gasped, “How can you say that? She nearly killed you!” 

_Would have done had Merlin not been there,_ Arthur thought in agreement. “Yes, but she and her son had lived peaceably within the borders of Camelot for many years. It wasn’t until my father executed her son that she sought to strike back at him through me. Do you know what her son was caught doing? What he was executed for?” 

Gwen shook her head wordlessly. Uther was not one to give details; only edicts. 

“He was seen mixing a magical potion that was used to heal his ailing mother.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of Gwen’s eyes as she clapped a hand over her mouth as if to muffle a gasp. 

“You see, it is actions like those that turn otherwise lawful citizens into enemies.” Arthur massaged his forehead with a sigh. “Along this vein... Of late, I have often wondered what would turn a daughter and sister against her own family.” 

“It was the influence of that evil witch Morgause, surely,” Gwen reasoned. 

“Perhaps,” Arthur acknowledged. “But perhaps not.” 

Arthur stood up and started to pace in an effort to corral his thoughts into some semblance of order. “What if…” he began, and then paced some more. “What if Morgana already had magic? What if she’d _always_ had it and not realised?” 

“But…” Gwen shook her head in denial. “That’s not possible.” 

“It _is_ possible,” Arthur insisted. “Rare, but possible. Most people learn it like any other field of study. But there are a few in which it is an inborn talent, and it is often latent for many years. What if Morgana was just such a person?” 

Gwen stared off into the distance, as if searching her mind for memories. “The nightmares,” she blurted out suddenly. 

Arthur began to nod, seeing where Gwen’s thoughts were headed. “Yes, and the fire. The glass of her window shattering _into_ the room rather than out.” 

Gwen’s hand trembled as her fingers touched her lips. “How frightened she must have been!” 

“Yes. Imagine having this terrible power that you never asked for and could not control, and then knowing that your own father and brother would see you burned or beheaded for having it.” 

Gwen blurted out, “Then maybe she was not kidnapped by the Druids—” 

“—but instead went to them seeking answers,” Arthur finished for her. “Answers that she could not get in Camelot. But then we ‘rescued’ her from them, and in the process, killed many of the people who had been trying to aid her. And then she was back in Camelot, trapped in a world that neither wanted nor understood her. It is no wonder that she was so ripe for Morgause’s treachery.” 

“Do you think,” Gwen asked hesitantly, “that if you approached her now, let her know that you do not have the same beliefs as Uther, that you would accept her and her magic, that she might yet be saved?” 

“I shall never give up hope of it, Guinevere, but I know not how we could trust her after all she has done. Morgana is stubborn to the last when she believes she is right. In that respect, she is very much a Pendragon.” 

Gwen gnawed at her lip nervously before she asked, “What do you intend to do about Merlin?” 

“I am hoping that I won’t have to do anything, that my father will realise he’s made a grave mistake.” 

“And if that does not happen?” 

But Arthur shook his head. “It is best if you do not know so that you can honestly claim ignorance on the matter.” 

“So then you _are_ planning something?” Gwen pressed. 

“Guinevere…” Arthur warned with one raised eyebrow. 

“Fine, then,” she huffed. “Don’t tell me. But can I help you? Would you like me to try to sneak a note in to Merlin in the morning? I believe that he will be allowed a morning repast. The king only forbade him food tonight so that no one could try to free him under the cover of darkness.” 

While the thought of Merlin being denied food still rankled, now that he had calmed a bit, Arthur could admit that there was a certain logic to his father’s reasoning. Merlin had served in Camelot a long time and had made many friends. 

“Yes, thank you.” Arthur grabbed a new quill and parchment and sat down to write. While he did, Gwen made herself useful by stacking up wood in the hearth and lighting it and then folded down the coverlet on his bed. She even retrieved the crumpled note from beneath it and tossed it into the now-blazing fire. 

Once Arthur was done, he folded the note in upon itself several times and tucked the ends together so that the note stayed closed of its own accord. Pointing at a short, squat candle burning on his bedside table, Arthur asked, “Could you please bring that to me, Guinevere?” 

She nodded and carried the candle to the desk and set it in front of him when he nodded to that spot. He lifted one corner of the metal holder so that the liquid beeswax pooled into one corner of the wide-mouthed candle. Then he carefully laid the folded parchment on the puddle of clear liquid, turning it over with his fingers again and again until the note was completely encased in wax. He set it on the lip of the candleholder to cool. 

“Why did you do that?” Gwen asked, just a hint of annoyance colouring her tone. “It’s not as if I would have read your private note, Arthur.” 

Arthur finished peeling the waxy residue from his fingertips and then shook his head with a sigh before handing her the rapidly cooling packet. “That’s in case you have to actually have to hide it _in_ his food, Guinevere,” he explained with a disappointed tone. 

“Oh,” Gwen replied, her voice quiet with shame. 

“Yes, oh,” Arthur repeated wearily, now feeling impatient for her to leave. He looked about the room and said, “I see you have all in preparation for this evening. Therefore, please do not feel obligated to return for my supper tray. I shall have one of the maids remove it.” 

“As you wish, My Lord,” Gwen replied tightly. 

“Perhaps instead you could apply to the steward to find me a more suitable long-term replacement for the morning. I have no wish to cause you more pain and discomfort than I already have.” 

“Very well,” she said with a nod. “Have you anyone in mind?” 

Arthur shook his head. “You are aware of my preferences; I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable.” 

“On the contrary, My Lord, I doubt I could find another servant as surly and insolent as Merlin,” she teased. 

“Nor would I _want_ another one as surly and insolent as Merlin,” Arthur admitted, sharing her smile. “Having one Merlin is more than enough to handle, thank you, let alone two.” 

The mirthful moment dwindled down into a nearly-suffocating silence. Finally, Gwen said, “I shall make sure that whomever it is will be here bright and early with your breakfast, then.” 

“That will be fine. Thank you,” Arthur said formally. 

With a slump to her shoulders, Gwen turned to leave. “And thank you,” Arthur said to her back, “for offering to help me with the note.” 

Gwen paused for a long moment before squaring her shoulders and looking back at him. “Just so we’re clear…I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for _Merlin_ , because he is my friend and I wish to help him.” 

“I understand,” Arthur replied with grim nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

The two stared for a long moment as if each were assessing the other and finding them slightly lacking. Finally, it was Gwen who lowered her eyes first and hurried out of the room. 

Arthur wondered why it was that, upon watching Guinevere leave—the woman with whom he’d once considered sharing his life—he felt nothing but relief. 

“Sire?” A strange voice called as Arthur drifted in a semi-conscious state. 

There was a pause, and then, “Sire?” 

This time there was a long pause before owner of the pompous, nasal voice cleared their throat and then added delicately, “It is time for you to rise, Sire.” 

Disoriented, Arthur groaned and shoved his head under his pillow. “Go ‘way…” Arthur grumbled, disgruntled. 

_Where the hell was Merlin, anyway?_

“I brought an array of various foods to tempt you into breaking your fast, Sire, but I am afraid you will have to sit up in order to partake of it.” 

Arthur groaned and rolled over onto his back, pillow still covering his face. 

“That’s it, Sire,” the annoying person’s voice urged. “I’m sure you will want to have plenty of time to prepare before your manservant’s trial, will you not?” 

_Prepare…trial…manservant… Merlin!_

_That_ thought brought Arthur upright and awake in a hurry. 

“There you go, Sire!” the voice chirruped excitedly. “I knew the promise of a decent breakfast would tempt you out of the Land of Morpheus.” 

Arthur turned and squinted at the figure beside him. He was silhouetted by the morning sun filtering through Arthur’s window. At first glance, his clothing selection was very reminiscent of Merlin’s. In fact, had the person been taller, he might have thought it _was_ him. 

“Who’re you?” 

The man stepped closer to the bed and out of the shaft of sun, bowing smartly from the waist. “George, sire, your new manservant.” 

Though George may have favoured clothing simliar to Merlin's--brown trousers, blue tunic, red neckerchief and leather coat--the similarities stopped there. George was short and stocky, had mousy brown hair and eyes, ruddy skin, a hooked nose and a gratingly deferential manner that all but screamed _bootlicker_. Merlin was tall and lanky, ebony-haired, so striking against his ivory skin, had facial features that should be horridly discordant but somehow still seemed to work together impressively, and could not possibly be a bootlicker, even if he tried. George’s clothing fit to a tee, perfectly pressed and completely spotless, whereas Merlin often looked like he could fit two of himself inside any of his clothes and both of his jackets looked like they’d been mangled by a wild boar. 

Still, no matter how impeccably dressed, this George had an ego that needed to be taken down a rung or two. “My _interim_ manservant, you mean,” Arthur corrected as he abruptly shoved the covers aside and stood up. 

The way George’s eyes deferentially slid away from his half-naked body made Arthur want to fling a goblet at his head…that was, until he realised that George probably wouldn’t even duck. In fact, his experience with the man thus far made him think that he might even brag about it to the other servants later, _“And you see this bruise? The prince has such unerring aim…”_

“As you say, Sire,” George said with the same deferential tone, yet, his lips momentarily compressed into a thin line. 

_Ah, George…didn’t like hearing that did you?_

“Did Guinevere send you?” 

George smiled proudly. “Yes, Sire. I was hand-picked by her to serve you. She thought that we were a perfect match.” 

“I see.” And Arthur was afraid he _did_ see: It seemed that Guinevere was perhaps more bitter about his choice to end their relationship than he’d previously anticipated. 

The prince rubbed the sleep from his eyes…and then stopped mid-step as he spied the veritable feast that the servant had laid out for his breakfast. Hands on hips, Arthur asked exasperatedly, “George, who and what army is going to eat all of that?” 

“Ah yes,” and George had the audacity to smile proudly at his accomplishment, “I took the liberty of bringing you a bit of everything in order to better learn my lord’s pleasures.” 

“My _pleasure_ is to not have Camelot’s food stores wasted,” Arthur reprimanded sternly, glowering at the obsequious little man. 

George looked as if he’d been slapped. His mouth opened and closed several times as if to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he stammered, “M-m-my apologies, my lord. I shall have the excess taken away forthwith.” 

When the man immediately made for the servant’s entrance, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He really wasn’t up for this much absurdity and annoyance so early in the day, or at least, not if it wasn’t Merlin’s unique version of it. 

“Stop. George, come back here, please.” 

The servant hesitated at the door and then returned to Arthur’s side with head bowed. “Yes, Sire?” 

“You can wait until I’ve finished breaking my fast. It doesn’t have to be gone immediately.” 

The man nodded soberly. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.” 

Arthur tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “Well, do you mean to serve me or should I do it myself?” 

George rushed forward at almost comical speed. “Of course, Sire!” he chirruped. “What shall it be this fine morning?” 

Arthur spared a thought for Merlin and wondered if he would even be offered a chance to break his fast. He could only hope that Guinevere would ensure it for her friend. 

“Two slices of ham, some cheese, bread, and an apple.” 

George picked up the serving utensils, delicately placing each item just so on the plate. Once he had the food arranged in what he must have thought was an aesthetically pleasing manner, he set the plate before Arthur. “There you are, Sire,” George said with a bow. He set eating utensils to either side of Arthur’s platter and then took a step back to stand at attention. 

Arthur could only take the silent eyes boring into his back so long before he turned round in his chair and huffed, “Must you stare like that? And why are you not eating?” 

George’s eyes widened and he looked affronted by the question. “My lord,” he breathed, “I would never presume! I shall take my repast in the kitchens after I have outfitted you for the day.” 

_So much for having company at the table, then._

Arthur sighed. “Very well. Carry on.” 

It was another five minutes of dreadful, uncomfortable silence before Arthur couldn’t stand it anymore. His utensils clattering to his plate, he demanded of George, “Are you really just going to stand there and watch me whilst I eat?” 

George lifted his chin a notch proudly. “It is a proper servant’s place to be seen but not heard, and I am a _proper_ servant, my lord.” 

Arthur heard the unspoken slander against Merlin’s serving skills and it made him feel angry, almost irrationally so. Sure, _he_ was allowed to criticize Merlin’s talents and tease him about his clumsiness all he wanted (and often did), but the Gods help anyone else who dared to do it. 

The prince pursed his lips into a flat unforgiving line. “You mean, as opposed to Merlin? I have no complaints about Merlin’s service to me, proper or no.” 

“I would not imagine you would, Sire. After all, he has been your _personal_ manservant for quite some time, has he not?” 

“He has. Over six years now,” Arthur replied while looking askance at the man. 

“Well then, he’s had plenty of time to learn all of your preferences,” George continued sagely. 

Arthur’s eyebrows scrunched together a little in confusion. “Naturally…” 

“So in light of all that, it now makes perfect sense why you’d let him get away with the things that you do.” George nodded as if that explained everything. 

“What…things?” Arthur asked, not following the servant’s line of thinking at all. 

George raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. “Well, all the bickering and the name-calling, for one. And he never knocks before entering your rooms. He always walks next to you instead of a step behind you. He even rides out beside you, ahead of your knights.” 

“How the hell would you know all that?” Arthur demanded to know. 

“You’d be surprised to learn all the things that the servants know, my lord.” 

“Apparently so.” _And that still doesn’t really explain what Merlin’s behaviour has to do with anything…_

As if in answer to Arthur’s unspoken question, George confessed, “Even though Merlin’s been very discreet, we servants have long suspected the truth. But he was always a sly minx when it came to the two of you; would never confirm or deny the rumour. He’s very protective of you and your privacy. You should be very proud.” 

_I am definitely not awake enough for this,_ Arthur thought as he rubbed his forehead, trying to ward off a rapidly-approaching headache. 

“What _are_ you talking about?” the prince snapped at George with exasperation. “It’s like you and I are having two completely different conversations!” 

“About your physical relationship with Merlin, Sire,” George responded as if the answer should have been patently obvious to the prince. 

Despite having his mouth full of water, Arthur inhaled when he should have swallowed, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing that only lessened slightly when George pounded on his back. 

His face red from lack of oxygen, Arthur croaked out, “My _what_?” His watering eyes seemed ready to pop out of their sockets, they were open so wide. 

George gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sire. A young man like you with so little opportunity for an appropriate outlet? Certainly you cannot afford to be creating bastards when you’re a prince. We all understand; expect it even. Your choice makes perfect sense. You’re always together, and he certainly _seems_ willing enough. And admittedly, Merlin is rather fey of face. With those long lashes and full lips of his, it wouldn’t exactly be a burden for you, I’d reckon…” 

Arthur stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over in the process. “You…You all…you all think that I…and _Merlin_ …?” he spluttered. 

Arthur couldn’t even allow his brain to _think_ it, let alone say it out loud. 

George frowned uncertainly. “Aren’t you?” 

“No!” Arthur declared vehemently, his cheeks scarlet with embarrassment and…other emotions he wasn’t prepared to name. “I am not… _sleeping_ with my manservant! Where would you have ever got that idea?” 

George’s eyes goggled. “But…but…I thought that…” he trailed off awkwardly into dumbfounded silence. 

“Get out, now,” Arthur ordered, his voice low and gravelly for reasons he refused to examine, “and if I discover that you have so much as breathed a _word_ of this to anyone, you will spend a week in the stocks. Is that clear?” 

George had put both his hands up in surrender as if he were being held by swordpoint. “Yes, Sire,” he stammered, bowing low to the prince. “Sorry, Sire. I won’t say anything to anyone, I swear!” he vowed before nearly tripping over his own feet to let himself out. 

Appetite lost, Arthur flopped face down on his bed, the empty bedsheets cooling his now flaming cheeks. 

“The servants thought we were _lovers_?” he exclaimed, his words muffled by the pillow he’d stuffed his face into. “Ridiculous!” 

Except that it wasn’t. Suddenly, the strength of the bond between he and Merlin made a frightening amount of sense. No matter how hard Arthur tried to block them out, George’s words kept repeating in his head: 

_Merlin was always a sly minx…_

He certainly seems _willing enough…_

…those long lashes and full lips… 

…it wouldn’t exactly be a burden… 

A vision of the face in question formed behind his eyelids and Arthur gasped at his sudden and immediate physical reaction to it. 

He’d never consciously thought of Merlin in that way before, but based on the growing hardness that was now trapped between his belly and the mattress, Arthur was sure as hell thinking it now. 

Merlin had been nothing but a lanky, gawky boy when he’d first become Arthur’s manservant, but no more. Over the course of almost seven years, Merlin had lost his all-elbows-and-knees awkwardness and matured into a lithe and fit young man. 

Sure, Merlin would never have the broad shoulders and hulking musculature of a knight, but Arthur found that he liked Merlin better _because_ of those differences, rather than in spite of them. Considering Merlin’s unique gifts, never had there been a man more suited to such a body type and the finesse it would give. All those long, lean lines suited Merlin well and allowed him to move with--despite all of Arthur’s teasing to the contrary--a surprising amount of beauty and grace. 

Arthur’s mind was drawn to the thought of Merlin’s hands; the long and slender fingers and their gentle touch as Merlin washed Arthur’s back or smoothed a tunic across the prince’s shoulders… 

The thought of those fingers touching Arthur in completely new and different ways made the prince moan and hitch his hips against the coverlet. 

“Shit!” Arthur groaned as he rolled over onto his back to free himself from temptation. 

“I don’t have time for this…” He couldn’t think about this now; he needed his wits about him today. 

But Arthur’s brain wasn’t in the mood to cooperate. “ _He certainly_ seems _willing enough,_ ” George’s overly-helpful voice echoed inside his head, and the thought made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. 

_Did he?_ Arthur’s traitorous mind wondered. _Did he really?_

After all, the servants had seen something in him that Arthur himself hadn’t recognized before. Could the same be said for Merlin? 

Most of the time, Merlin was as insolent and irreverent as they came, giving as good as he got. Granted, sometimes Arthur deserved to be brought down a peg or two (not that he would _ever_ tell Merlin that), but still, no one else in his life had ever dared talk to him the way that Merlin did. And--Gods help him--he’d actually grown to like it. 

Yet, there were other times, too...times when Merlin looked upon him as if he were something dear, as if Arthur had just hung the moon and stars in the sky for Merlin’s sake. Arthur had never felt that he deserved that look, the complete and total awe that Merlin’s gaze held, but oh how it inspired him to be better, to try harder, to be worthy of such devotion! 

And sure, Merlin might call him a “dollophead” and any number of other slanderous names...but he’d also lay down his life for Arthur in a heartbeat, and had done so many times already. 

Merlin was probably the biggest idiot Arthur had met in all the Five Kingdoms, but he was also one of the wisest, giving Arthur the advice he needed to hear at the most fortuitous of times. 

Whenever it felt like Arthur had no one left in his life he could count on, Merlin had been there by his side. Other than that moment yesterday afternoon when he’d held his blade to Merlin’s throat, Arthur had never questioned the man’s loyalty...and in truth, deep down he hadn’t even questioned it then. 

Because there was loyalty, and then there was _this_. Arthur knew not what to call it, it certainly went beyond friendship or fidelity or even ardor. The only word Arthur could think of was _more_. 

Arthur loved Guinevere; he knew he did. It saddened him to lose her presence in his life. He would mourn for the dream of what their life together could have been like. She would have made a wonderful queen. Guinevere wanted what was best for Camelot, just like he did. The people would have loved her. 

Yet Arthur could tell that he would get over her eventually. The pain he felt now would ease and he would be able to move on and start over. 

However, Arthur knew instinctively that if he lost Merlin there would be no getting over it. Merlin was too much a part of him. It was like he had sunk into Arthur’s bones, right down to the marrow. Arthur would not--nay, could not--be separated from Merlin now, whatever the cost. 

Because while Arthur would miss Guinevere, he couldn’t even imagine a life without _Merlin_ in it. 

_What did that even mean?_

Arthur answered his own question. “It means I’m going to give myself a bloody headache if I think about this any longer,” he drawled wryly, his voice unnaturally loud in the empty room. 

Yet, long after he’d dragged himself back out of bed to change his clothes, Arthur kept thinking about the emotions he was only starting to make sense of, and wondered if Merlin might feel them, too. 


	4. Like a Lamb to Slaughter

It was morning. Or at least, Merlin _thought_ it was morning, as the inky blackness of his cell had given way to a dirty wash-water grey light. He pulled the filthy rag of a blanket up higher over his shivering shoulders and tried to ignore the growling of his empty stomach. No one had brought him an evening meal, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to everyone being afraid to approach him, or if the king was really that cruel. Oh, how he wished he’d eaten more of his lunch! 

Arthur had told him of his plans to convince his father to free Merlin, and at the time, he had smiled and joked about it in order to ease Arthur’s sense of responsibility and guilt. Privately however, Merlin did not hold out any hope for its success. He knew well that Uther would not be persuaded from his course once he believed sorcery was involved. He’d seen it in the past too many times to count. 

No, Merlin could sense it; he was going to be on his own for this one. Of course, the escape itself was the easy part; Merlin could do that in his sleep with both hands tied behind his back. (Well, except for the whole tripping and falling over stuff part that would have been inevitable with such a scenario.) The _real_ issue was, how was he to go about freeing himself without looking as if he’d done it with magic? 

For all of Uther’s bluster about how dangerous magic was, his captors certainly had very little idea of how to contain it! They hadn’t even bound Merlin with iron restraints. With that lack of logic, it was no wonder people escaped from Camelot’s dungeons with frightening regularity! 

Still, he had to leave some sort of trail…some obvious clues to spell out how he’d gotten away without magical aid. After all, Merlin was pretty sure that Agravaine reported to Morgana, and the last thing he wanted was for Morgana to have any idea that he had magic. 

_Maybe I could knock out a guard,_ he thought idly before discarding the idea as absurd. _No one would believe that I could overpower a guard…and with what?_

Instead, he thought about perhaps stealing the jailer’s keys…but that was assuming one ever got close enough. So far, he’d not seen anyone at all for hours and hours. 

_Perhaps I can wait until they try to take me away?_ Merlin pondered. _I might be able to escape at that point…_

Merlin’s reverie was disrupted by the sound of a key turning in the rusty lock that closed off this part of the dungeon from the rest. Someone was coming! But why and for what purpose, he knew not. Moments later, he saw a dull flickering becoming slowly brighter and the scuffling of feet as whomever was carrying the torch came nearer to his cell. Soon it was so bright to his darkness-adjusted sight that Merlin had to put up a hand to shield his eyes against it. 

Finally, as Merlin shrank away from the flame pressed close to his door and blinked back painful tears, he could just make out two silhouettes behind the light. A gruff, gravelly voice sneered, “Tha’s right, you stinkin’ sorcerah…back up. An’ don’ try no funny stuff, else I’ve got orders ta take it out on yer maid friend, here…” 

The guard stuffed his torch into the wall sconce near Merlin’s cell and then unsheathed his sword menacingly. Merlin blinked again and again, trying to accustom himself to the light until… 

“Gwen?” 

He rushed forward excitedly, happy to see her, but quickly backed up again when the guard pressed a wicked blade against her throat. “What’d I tell ya?” 

“No, no…” Merlin raised both hands to show he meant no harm. “Please, I’m sorry. She’s done nothing...please.” 

“Then ye best be makin’ no more sharp moves, ya hear?” the beefy guard warned with a grunt. 

Cautiously, Merlin walked slowly and steadily toward the bars, where Gwen stood holding a tray in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. “Gwen,” he whispered, “what are you doing here?” 

“Bringing you your breakfast,” she replied with a gentle smile, “and some water for washing.” 

“Huh,” Merlin said with a shrug. “After last night, I figured the king was starving me, too.” 

Gwen’s lips pursed angrily. “That wasn’t right of him. No one deserves that, least of all you.” 

“Not to hear the king tell it,” Merlin replied. Then he asked, “Not that I’m not glad to see you, Gwen, but…why you?” 

“When the normal girl refused to come because she was too afraid to do it, I volunteered. I didn't want you to miss another meal. ” Gwen huffed with irritation and rolled her eyes. “They've all known you for years. It’s _ridiculous_. You’re the most gentle, harmless person I know.” 

Merlin’s vision swam and he blinked back tears at the sound of Gwen’s fierce loyalty toward him. He only wished he’d actually earned it by telling her the truth about himself long ago. But it was too late for that now. 

The guard roughly nudged Gwen from behind, causing some of the water in the bucket she carried to splash over the side onto the stone floor. “Get on wiv it…” 

Gwen raised her chin defiantly and snapped, “Well, I would if you would ever open the damned door!” 

Merlin had to look down and bite his cheek to keep from smirking as the guard ambled forward and jammed the key into the lock. The door squeaked open on rusty hinges and Gwen shuffled forward with her burden as the guard quickly slammed the door behind her. 

Gwen lowered the tray onto the stone bench that Merlin had used as a cot just as he reached out to take the bucket handle from her. As their heads bent toward each other, Gwen whispered, “Look for Arthur’s note…” 

“Where?” Merlin mouthed against her ear. 

Merlin didn’t even have to see the look on her face to know she was embarrassed; he could feel the heat of her burning cheek against his. “In the porridge…” she admitted sheepishly. 

As he straightened up, he looked at her and mouthed in consternation, “ _In?_ ” 

But before she could reply, the guard rapped against the bars of the cell door with the pommel of his sword. “Come on now, no jibber-jabberin’. You’ve made yer delivery, now get outta there.” 

As the door noisily swung open again, Gwen used the sound to cover her voice as she explained hurriedly, “It was the best I could do!” 

“Thank you, Gwen,” Merlin said seriously, biting his lip to hold back the tears that now burned both in his eyes and his throat. He honestly didn’t know what he’d done to earn such good friends, but he thanked the gods for them. He could only hope she would still feel the same if and when she ever learned the truth. 

Gwen squeezed his hand and then scurried out of the cell. Big-and-Brawny slammed the door shut behind her with an ear-splitting clang. “Don’ get too comfortable in there, cuz I’ll be back for yeh in a little while.” He nodded toward the water bucket and grinned. “Better make yerself look pretty for the crowd, cuz today’s the day we gets to find out if it’s a hangin’ or a burnin’!” 

Merlin was pretty sure that the horrified look on his face must have been what kept the guard cackling all the way up the hallway. 

_Well, at least that shovel-faced git left me the torch,_ Merlin thought uncharitably as he plopped down next to the food tray with a sigh. The fare was simple: a bowl of lukewarm porridge and a piece of rustic, crusty bread, but Merlin’s growling stomach looked forward to it just the same. 

He patted it sympathetically and thought, _I know you’re hungry, but first things first._ Picking up the wooden spoon, he pushed the lumpy, gelatinous mass about in the bowl until… 

“Aha,” Merlin whispered, and then stuck his fingers into the bowl to retrieve the well-folded scrap of paper that Arthur had covered in beeswax. He sucked off all the sticky residue and then set the bowl and tray aside. Edging closer to the bars, he carefully peeled away the waxy shell and unfolded the damp note. Turning it toward the torchlight, he read the words written in Arthur’s sloping hand: 

_Gaius was successful in convincing my father to give you a trial. We hold out hope that he might yet be swayed. You are not,_ under any circumstance (and Arthur had underlined these words twice for emphasis) _, to admit to anything! But if things do not go well, know that I am working on a plan to help you escape. I swear that I will not let you die._

"Oh, Arthur," he sighed with a fond smile. Merlin almost felt sorry for the prince, knowing that he wanted so badly to believe that the king could be reasoned with. Merlin hoped rather than believed it would be so, if only so Arthur would still have someone he could look up to with pride when it was over. 

Merlin retreated to the darkest corner of his cell with his back to the door before he whispered, " _Forbærnan,_ " and then silently watched the letter in his hand burn to ash. He deposited the remnants into the stinking slop bucket that served as his privy and then brushed his hands clean on the backs of his trousers. 

That task completed, he tucked in to his rations with gusto. With the day he had looming ahead of him, Merlin knew he'd need all the help he could get. 

Merlin had barely finished eating and completing his morning ablutions (as best he could in the near dark, with dirty clothes, in a filthy dungeon cell) before the guard returned, this time with two knights. 

As the guard turned the key in the rusty lock, Merlin slicked his fingers through his still-damp hair in a futile attempt to tame it. Rather than coming inside the cell, his jailer waved a hand impatiently at Merlin. “Now you come out here an’ don’ try no funny stuff, see?” 

Merlin nodded and then stepped into the relative brightness of the hallway. He smiled when he recognized the two young knights. “Oh, hello Sir Elers, Sir Godfrey,” he acknowledged pleasantly, as if they were chatting between sets on the practice green rather than standing in the dungeons. 

The young knights seemed discomfited by Merlin’s cheerful attitude; neither one returned his greeting. Nevertheless, Merlin was not dissuaded. “How is your mother doing, Sir Godfrey? I know Gaius said she was feeling a bit unwell earlier in the week.” 

Sir Godfrey glanced at Sir Elers with alarm and then answered shortly, “Better.” 

Merlin smiled and nodded encouragingly. “Good. I am glad to hear it.” 

The door to the cell clanged shut behind him and then Merlin stumbled forward after being shoved roughly from behind. “Don’ mind ‘im,” the jailer said as if sharing a confidence with the two knights, “‘e likes ter get chatty, ‘e does.” 

“Now turn ‘round, yer filthy, stinkin’ sorcerah, so’s I can put these cuffs on yer.” Merlin turned around, thrust out his wrists, and gave the man the most defiant look he could manage. 

“If anyone should know about things stinking around here, it would be you,” Merlin declared insolently. 

The jailer sneered, and then used his key ring like a set of brass knuckles, bashing his fist hard against the side of Merlin’s temple. “Watch yer bleedin’ mouth unless you want a matchin’ one for the other side.” 

Even as he staggered backward, Merlin could already feel the blood trickling from the cut. He was immediately grateful for the presence of the knights, as their grip on his forearms kept him from losing his balance and hitting his head. 

As Merlin reeled, the jailer clapped manacles made of steel around his wrists and locked them tightly shut. Too tight, actually…and from the leer on the guard’s face, he surely knew it. They were so tight that the metal edges of the cuffs dug into the tender flesh and almost cut off the circulation to his hands. 

Merlin glared daggers at him as tried to wiggle life back into his fingers. “You really are a sadistic bastard, aren’t you?” 

The man made to cuff Merlin around the other side of the head for his insolence, but this time Merlin was ready. In a move drilled into him in self-defence from years of being around Arthur, Merlin ducked at lightning speed, making the guard miss and overbalance himself. He stumbled sideways and landed hard against the jail cell door. 

At Merlin’s triumphant grin, the guard made to reach for his sword…but Sir Elers stepped in front of the man and stayed his arm. “That’s enough, Bors,” he warned. “The king said to prepare the prisoner, not tenderise him like a piece of meat.” 

“Don’ think he’d care much about the condition of a _sorcerah_ ,” Bors sneered at Merlin over Sir Elers’ shoulder. 

“Nevertheless,” Sir Godfrey interjected putting even more space between Merlin and Bors, “we don’t want to keep the king waiting.” 

“S’pose not,” Bors admitted grumpily. He shoved past Merlin and then twirled his keyring around his finger as he walked away. “See you later,” Bors said cheekily without even looking back. 

“Not if I see you first,” Merlin grumbled under his breath. 

Sir Godfrey snorted with amusement and then hurriedly covered up the sound with a hacking cough when Sir Elers looked at him askance. 

“Come along, Merlin,” said Sir Elers as he tugged gently on his arm. “It is time.” 

Merlin nodded solemnly and allowed himself to be propelledout of the dungeons and into the light of day for perhaps the last time in his life. 

Merlin had to give Uther credit; if nothing else, the man knew how to work a crowd. Rather than have the guards bring him to the Council Chambers via the most expedient route, Merlin found himself being paraded through several of the hallways that were the most heavily populated at this time of the morning. Servants and nobles alike were forced to stand aside to make room for their silent little procession. 

Merlin knew and understood the king’s tactic. He was being made an example of. Uther meant to create a spectacle of him, for Merlin to serve as both a demonstration and a warning as to what fate awaited any magic user in Camelot. 

As Merlin walked, there were gasps and murmurs, mumbling and jeering; some people even made signs over themselves to ward against evil demons. And all this before Merlin’s fate had supposedly even been decided! 

The spectacle was intended, Merlin knew, to unnerve and humiliate him; it was a way to rattle him and get him emotionally off-balance before the trial even began. But Merlin refused to play the game by Uther’s rules. Instead of hanging his head and hiding his face in shame, Merlin kept his head held high, not in defiance or contempt, but in his normal open and engaging manner. He nodded his head at passers by and gifted them with a friendly smile, as if he were merely on an errand for the prince rather than on his way to a trial to decide his fate. 

Finally, they arrived at the closed doors to the Council Chambers. The dull hum of murmuring voices behind them indicated that he would be playing to a full house—again, not a surprise to Merlin. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone as close to the royal family as him was accused of sorcery. 

The voices hushed as Sir Elers and Sir Godfrey pushed open the doors to usher Merlin inside. As he’d predicted, the room was full of nobles and servants alike. Merlin’s eyes searched the crowd for familiar faces and found Gwen, where she was pressed against the side wall of the room near the servant’s entrance. Then he saw Sir Leon near a cluster of Council members, Gaius at his side. Merlin’s lips curled downward into an unhappy moue as he took in Gaius’ haggard appearance. He looked truly awful, with deep bags etched into his wrinkled, pale face. Clearly, his mentor was very worried about the outcome of this farce. 

As he stepped through the doorway, Merlin looked toward the throne. Uther was perched on it like a hungry bird of prey, his beady eyes boring into him while his body leaned forward in anticipation. 

Merlin stutter-stepped and his eyes widened at the sight; not because he felt intimidated (although he had to admit that there was something about Uther that always gave one the shivers), but because he’d seen the man pitiably diminished for such a long time that it took Merlin a moment to process the obvious return of Uther to his wits. 

Uther pushed off the throne violently and stalked toward him. “Is there a problem, boy?” he demanded to know, stopping just short of where Merlin stood, too close to be a comfortable distance. 

Merlin bowed his head to show the proper amount of deference to the king. “No, Sire. I am just happy to see you looking so well.” 

Uther snorted and said, “I’m sure you are.” Sarcasm dripped from every word as he walked back to the throne and seated himself upon it again. Many members of the crowd shifted uncomfortably and gave each other anxious looks. 

Finally, Merlin raised his head to look at Arthur. He was standing to the right side and behind Uther rather than sitting in the smaller, shorter throne that had been installed on the other side next to the king. Instead, Sir Agravaine had claimed that honor. 

Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur standing in the exact same spot that Merlin always did was done in silent protest, or if his placement behind the king rather than next to him was by Uther’s design to illustrate his authority over his son. Judging by the surly, defiant glance Arthur shot at the backs of both their heads, Merlin thought that perhaps it was a combination of both. 

Arthur’s eyes roamed over Merlin as if to catalog every scrape and bruise for later retribution. Merlin knew the moment he’d noticed the weeping cut on his temple, for Arthur’s eyes narrowed and his face grew stony. 

Arthur took two fury-sharpened steps forward and pointed imperiously at Sir Godfrey. “Release him from those shackles immediately!” 

Sir Godfrey startled at Arthur’s harsh tone and hesitated uncomfortably, looking helplessly from the prince to the king and back. 

“Arthur…” Uther’s quiet voice was pregnant with warning. 

The prince turned to face his father and demanded, “No, Father. You agreed that this would be a fair and just trial. So then treat it like one. We do not chain the innocent in Camelot.” 

Uther and Arthur stared at each other with narrowed eyes for a long moment before Uther finally huffed and waved an impatient hand toward Sir Godfrey. “Release him.” 

Arthur nodded once in acknowledgment and resumed his original place behind the king, his expression belligerent and stormy. 

The air was thick with tension as Sir Godfrey stepped forward and unlatched first one and then the other manacle before stepping back to leave Merlin standing alone in the middle of the room. Merlin grimaced as he tried to rub feeling back into his wrists and fingers. 

When Uther approached him this time, he was more contemplative. He walked a circle around Merlin as he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. Privately, Merlin thought this sort of posturing was below Uther; he almost preferred the king’s more direct method of dealing with sorcerers over this parody of justice. 

“You will speak loudly and clearly so that everyone in the room can hear you, is that understood?” Uther demanded at last. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

Uther paced slowly back and forth in front of Merlin. “Please state your name for the court.” 

“Merlin, my lord.” 

“Merlin. And from whence do you hail?” 

“Ealdor, Sire. It is a small village in Essetir just over the border from Camelot.” 

“And you have lived in Camelot how long?” 

“About six and a half years, Sire.” 

“And what is your occupation?” 

“I am Prince Arthur’s personal manservant. I also apprentice in the healing arts under the Court Physician, Gaius.” 

“Merlin of Ealdor. You stand before the court today accused of treason by way of sorcery. How do you plead?” 

Merlin dared not look at Arthur as he responded, “Not guilty, Sire.” 

“Hmmm,” Uther said, again rubbing his chin as if in thought. “Then please explain to me how you came to be in my chambers yesterday afternoon.” 

Merlin made sure to keep his eyes only on the king as the man slowly paced back and forth. “Well, Sire, the night before last after the Prince’s Anniversary celebration, you developed stomach pains along with a very high fever.” 

“And how do you know this?” 

“I reside with Gaius, so I was awoken by his summons. I offered my aid to him in the guise of Physician’s Assistant.” 

“Who was it that supposedly found me in this state?” Uther continued to question in a tone far too congenial and rational for Merlin’s comfort. 

“I believe it was Prince Arthur, my lord,” Merlin glanced over at Arthur as if in confirmation and Arthur nodded. Of course, Arthur’s nod actually meant something far different to Merlin: that he was doing well, that his story so far had meshed with what others had already told the king. “He had indicated to me just before I retired for the evening that he intended to visit you in your chambers before turning in for the night.” 

“Very well,” Uther acceded magnanimously, “Pray continue.” 

“When Gaius and I arrived you were highly feverish and delirious.” 

“And what was the nature of the supposed malady?” 

“I…do not know its name, Sire. All I know is that Gaius considered it highly contagious and bade me warn someone so that no one else would be exposed to you until you recovered.” Merlin glanced over at Gaius and said, “Perhaps he discussed it with the prince while I was out of the room fetching cool water and soaking cloths.” 

Uther turned and looked at Gaius expectantly. 

“Red thrush fever, Sire,” Gaius supplied. “Indeed quite contagious in its initial stage, but thankfully it travels through the system quite quickly. The key is to bring the fever down before it can do irreparable harm to the body.” 

Uther frowned at the physician. “I have never heard of this ‘Red Thrush Fever’…” 

“Camelot has not seen a case of it in several years, Sire, but I assure you that it does exist. I suspect it might have been brought in by the travelling performers.” 

“Indeed.” The king stopped to ponder that for a moment before nodding his head at Merlin. “Continue.” 

“While I was out gathering the needed supplies for your sick-room, I happened upon Sir Leon. I passed on to him the nature of your illness as well as the news that Gaius had quarantined your quarters in order to keep the sickness from spreading any further.” 

Uther turned his eyes toward his First Knight. “Leon?” 

“Just so, Sire,” Sir Leon confirmed. “And as the guard changed for the evening, I made them aware of the situation and instructed them to not allow anyone admittance other than Gaius, Merlin, and Arthur, who had already been exposed to the disease. 

Uther nodded as he paced, motioning for Merlin to continue. “If this Red Thrush fever is so contagious, then why did none of you contract it?” 

“I believe, Sire…” Merlin hesitated and made sure to look toward Gaius as if confirming a diagnosis rather than buying himself more time to weave his falsehood, “that Gaius told me young children and the infirm are at a higher risk of contracting the disease. There were no young children at the feast, and—forgive me, Sire—but until yesterday, you had been unwell for many months. I believe the prince and I did not fall ill because we are both young and healthy, and Gaius…” Merlin shrugged helplessly, “Well, I think that he’s just built up some sort of immunity to disease after so many years as a physician.” 

Uther made a face that hinted that he agreed with Merlin’s assessment of Gaius’ resistance to sickness. 

“If what you say is true, then how did you come to be at my bedside without Gaius?” 

“Once we had got your fever down to a more manageable temperature, he bade me sleep so that I might relieve him. Prince Arthur was kind enough to relieve me of my obligations to him for the day so that I could be made available to nurse you.” 

Uther turned to glare at his son as if he believed that he was yet again too lenient with his manservant. Arthur’s arms were folded across his chest as if with annoyance, but his face gave away nothing. 

“How very convenient,” Uther said at last. 

Merlin cocked his head to the side as if confused by the statement. “I hope you are not finding Gaius at fault, Sire; he’d been up with you all night. Surely, you understand that the poor man had to sleep sometime.” 

“I do not find fault with Gaius for needing his rest,” Uther admitted, “though for other matters…we shall have to wait and see.” 

The implied threat hung heavy in the air. Merlin cast a worried glance at Gaius, but gamely continued, “I know I’m not as learned as he is, my lord, but his treatment instructions were very straightforward, simple and easy to follow.” 

“Did your _instructions_ include sorcery?” Uther demanded to know, his beady eyes boring a hole into Merlin, watching his reaction closely. 

“No, my lord,” Merlin replied, sounding much calmer than he currently felt. 

Uther’s voice went cold. “Then explain to me why I saw you glowing.” 

Merlin’s pulse started thrumming in his ears. _Well, that explains a lot…_

Over Uther’s shoulder, he saw the muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitch minutely. Merlin was grateful that the king could not see his son, for he might be one of the few other people who knew how to read Arthur’s tells. 

“My lord,” Merlin said with just the right amount of both deference and pity, “I can assure you that I was not glowing.” 

“Forgive me if your _word_ does not exactly inspire me with confidence when I saw it with my own eyes,” Again, Uther honed his sharp gaze on Merlin’s face, trying to watch for any hint of deception. 

But, while Merlin was normally a terrible liar, _this_ was a secret he’d been keeping since birth. “Sire…” Merlin paused delicately, “high fevers such as yours have been known to cause waking dreams; hallucinations, if you will.” 

“A hallucination?” Uther snorted in disbelief. “I think not.” 

Arthur spoke up from his spot behind the throne. “But Father, you also mentioned something about an assassination attempt, about being stabbed. Yet, you can see for yourself that there is no wound.” 

A flurry of hushed whispers rose from the gallery and many of the Council members shook their heads as if commiserating with the hapless manservant. 

Uther turned on his heel and pointed one imperious finger at his son. “You stay out of this,” he hissed. 

“Then perhaps it was light streaming in from the window behind me that affected your vision,” Merlin offered. 

Uther closed his right hand tightly into a fist and growled through clenched teeth, “No. I know what I saw.” 

Again, Merlin’s voice was very soft and apologetic as he mentioned, “There was another person in the room at the time in question, Sire. Perhaps we could apply to Prince Arthur for what he saw?” 

Heads in the gallery turned as one to stare at the prince. 

“Or did _not_ see…” Arthur replied, his answer to the question made clear by the sarcasm-laden retort. 

“That is _enough_!” the king roared, turning to face Arthur angrily. 

“No, it is not,” Arthur spit out, moving out from behind the throne to stand in front of his father defiantly. “Merlin has been my loyal manservant for years; a position that _you_ awarded him after he saved my life! And he has done so more than once since. For all his many faults, loyalty to me and to Camelot is not one of them.” 

“Yes, and he has also been in a very _convenient_ position to cast untold amounts of magic upon you,” Uther insisted. “Who knows what manner of evil enchantments and sorcery already work upon you for you to defend him like this!” 

Arthur threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. “That is utter nonsense! I am not defending Merlin because I am enchanted; I am defending him because he has done nothing to harm you. In fact, he was trying to save your life! I am not going to simply stand by and watch you condemn an innocent man for the sake of your stupid pride!” 

At this, Lord Agravaine rose to his feet and stood between them, placing a friendly hand on each of their shoulders. “Brother, Nephew…calm yourselves. This bickering does neither of you any credit.” 

Uther wiped his gloved hand against his mouth to remove the traces of spittle around it. “Thank you, Brother,” he said at last, nodding to Agravaine. “You are right, of course.” 

With an acknowledging nod, Agravaine then turned to the prince. “Arthur, certainly you are not suggesting to us that your father is unfit to rule.” His voice was calm but still held a hint of disbelief. “After all, you assured us of his sanity just yesterday afternoon when you relinquished your powers of Regency to him.” 

Arthur threaded a hand through his hair in frustration. “I am not suggesting that at all, Uncle. I am not speaking of the king’s current mental health, but about the first moments of wakefulness after several months of infirmity. Surely, one’s powers of deduction might not be as sharp as usual under such circumstances.” 

He paused as if to collect his thoughts and then said to his father with a much milder, more sympathetic tone of voice, “You were ill for a long time, Father. No one here will find you lacking simply because you admit that—in this one instance—you _might_ have been wrong.” 

Merlin held his breath. This was the moment that would decide everything; he could feel it. 

The silence in the room as the king pondered Merlin’s fate was deafening. Uther studied Merlin for a long, contemplative moment before he turned back toward Arthur. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said at last. “It would not be wise to jump to such a conclusion when the evidence to the contrary is nearly overwhelming.” 

But whereas Arthur let out a visible sigh of relief, Merlin tensed. Normally, when it came to magic, Uther was tenacious and wily. And it was not like the king to admit to his faults or acquiesce to others so graciously. 

Call him cynical, but Merlin couldn’t help but think that it was not over. 

He was right. 

“But certainly you can understand my concern,” Uther continued after a time, his voice still smooth and full of contrition. “You are my only son and heir. You and the future of this kingdom must remain safe.” 

“Of course, Father,” Arthur replied graciously, letting his guard down now that he felt the threat to Merlin’s life had passed. “I understand why you would be worried.” 

And then suddenly, Merlin knew what Uther was doing. The king knew his son well; _too_ well, it seemed. He knew that Arthur responded better to his displays of affection than to his rants. That sneaky, cagey, _evil_ bastard was setting a trap for his son…and Arthur—true-hearted, trusting Arthur—was about to walk right into it. 

Merlin nearly groaned aloud when Arthur took the bait. “Would that I could ease your mind in some way.” 

“Well, perhaps there _is_ something that might help.” Uther rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he approached Merlin. His words were almost a question as he acknowledged, “You always have been uncommonly loyal to my son.” 

Merlin ducked his head as if in embarrassed acceptance of the compliment. However, in truth, it was to hide his growing sense of dread. Uther had some sort of trick up his sleeve, and whatever it was, Merlin was sure not to like it. His mouth felt as dry as sawdust as he croaked, “Thank you, My Lord.” 

“It’s almost enough to make one wonder: why would a mere servant show such single-minded devotion to his master? Unless…” Uther let the implication of that statement hang in the air around them for a long moment, although the leer he aimed at Merlin clearly revealed his personal thoughts on the matter. 

Once Uther thought he’d dragged out the suspense long enough, he leaned in very close to Merlin and murmured conspiratorially, “…unless there was something more than just _devotion_ involved. What with all the dressing and undressing, the bathing, and other—shall I say?—more _personal_ duties… I suppose it is to be expected.” 

Merlin’s cheeks flamed and his heart hammered wildly in his chest at the thought of the kinds of personal duties the king was hinting at. _Oh, gods; oh, gods; oh, gods…_ he thought in panic as those barely-acknowledged yearnings surged to the forefront of his mind, nearly swamping him with their intensity. Merlin couldn’t hold back the tiny hitch in his breathing as he struggled to hold back a painful sob. 

Something of Merlin’s internal distress must have shown on his face because Uther’s resulting smile was triumphant. “Then perhaps, since you are so devoted to Arthur—” Merlin’s mind unhelpfully supplied the words _in love with him_ that he felt sure the king was implying, “—you would indulge me in performing a little test that would prove your loyalty?” 

At that, Arthur rushed forward to intercede. “Father, surely such a thing is not necessary,” he exclaimed, aiming a confused but worried glance at Merlin. “You need not worry; I will vouch for Merlin personally.” 

To Merlin’s horror, Uther actually chuckled and clapped a friendly hand to the prince’s back. “Relax, Arthur. No harm shall come to your precious manservant from the test itself.” 

_No mention of what comes after the test, though,_ Merlin thought suspiciously. _Oh, this is not good. Not good at all._ One glance at the alarmed look on Gaius’ face confirmed the validity of his fears. 

Arthur, it seemed, had finally reached the same conclusion, but it was clear that he knew his hands were tied. Aiming an apologetic look at Merlin, the prince replied in as casual a tone as he could muster up, “Very well, Father. If it will ease your troubled mind.” 

“Thank you.” Uther turned and motioned with his hand. Slowly, the crowd parted to make way for the king’s manservant Edgar, who was carrying a platter that had been covered by a scrap of silk. Once he reached the king’s side, Edgar removed the cloth to reveal a very curious pair of silver wristlets. 

Each silver cuff was decorated with sprays of holly and oak leaves that stood in relief against the metal and each was interwoven over and under the other in a seemingly unending loop. Their leaves had been burnished green and gold respectively while beads of red carnelian and smooth ovals of amber stood in for the berries and acorns. They were a breathtakingly beautiful pair. Such delicate craftmanship could only have been created by a master jeweler…or by magic. 

A sudden, horrified gasp drew all eyes in the room from the tray to Gaius, who had gone completely ashen. He clutched at Sir Leon’s arm as if were only the knight’s brute strength that kept him upright. “Uther,” he begged, perilously close to weeping, “please don’t do this. He is like a son to me…” 

“Quiet, physician,” Uther demanded, his voice sharp and icy-cold, “or else it shall be _you_ next!” 

However, Merlin missed the commotion as his attention had been utterly arrested by the stunningly beautiful jeweled cuffs. Despite their harmless appearance he could feel that they had been imbued with a powerful magic, a powerful _dark_ magic that nonetheless called to Merlin as if it were a siren’s song. 

Arthur rushed to the old man’s side as Gaius start to sway dangerously, calling for someone to bring them a chair. Once he and Leon had settled him into it, Arthur leaned forward and breathed, “What is it that frightens you so?”

“The Cuffs of Isernhæft,” Gaius panted against Arthur’s ear as he nodded toward the pair of wristlets that the king was reaching for, “house a powerful and ancient magic designed to trap and ensnare sorcerers. Dark magic calls to them, compels them to place their wrists inside of the cuffs and then they lock away their magic. I’ve never seen a sorcerer able to resist them.” 

Meanwhile, Uther had picked up the wristlets and now everyone in the room could see that they were actually a very elaborate set of manacles, attached to each other by alternating links of silver and gold. 

Rapt, Merlin watched as the cuffs cradled in Uther’s hands whispered open on silent, hidden hinges. Unlike the outside, the insides were a polished but dark metallic grey. Valiantly, Merlin tried to resist the pull of the foreign magic, tried to focus his energy on making out the ancient spell etched into the iron lining, but he could not. Instead, his eyes kept getting distracted by the way the runes pulsed a soothing, tranquil blue from the hinges in the middle to the open ends and back in a spritely dance that only he could see. Merlin felt his body grow heavier and his vision grow softer the closer the king got. 

“What must I do?” Merlin asked as the king stopped in front of him, feeling as if he was speaking to him from inside a dream. Now that they were right in front of him, Merlin could hear the tinkling magic of the cuffs speaking to him. Blocking out all else, he strained to listen harder, tried to make out the words… 

“You place your wrists inside of them,” Uther urged, and even his harsh voice sounded soothing to Merlin’s enchanted ears. 

With difficulty, Merlin looked away from the hypnotic pulsing, fighting for even the tiniest shred of his sanity. Eventually, he found enough of it to slur, “How’ll this help Arthur?” 

“You will be protecting Arthur,” Uther prompted, sliding his hands even closer to Merlin. “You will be saving his life if you give in.” 

Merlin nodded slowly as if that made perfect sense. And then it was as if he couldn’t _not_ do what Uther asked, what the _magic_ asked of him. He watched his hands turn palms up and his arms move as if he were outside of himself, as if he were someone else entirely. 

“No! Don’t do it, Merlin!” 

The movement of Merlin’s hands stopped in midair as he looked up at Arthur and blinked owlishly, his senses slow and his eyesight hazy. His clouded mind couldn’t fathom why Arthur looked so frantic when the music was so soothing and beautiful. Thinking was like trying to wade through a sea of honey. It was so much easier to let the music carry him forward, lighter than air… 

“Merlin!” Merlin was grabbed from behind and yanked away, but it was too late. The beguiling cuffs snicked closed over Merlin’s tunic-covered wrists of their own accord and sealed themselves with a blinding flash of blue light. An inhuman scream tore from his throat as the white-hot agony of his magic being stripped away rippled through him, and then he fell, unconscious, into Arthur’s arms. 

Arthur looked up from where he knelt on the floor, cradling Merlin’s insensible form against him. “What have you done?” he breathed, staring at his father in absolute horror. “You accused _him_ of sorcery, but surely you cannot deny that _this_ —” Arthur tugged at the chain that now strung Merlin’s wrists together, “—was magic! These manacles enchanted him; everyone saw it!” 

The muffled murmurs and shaking of heads of the crowd around them seemed to support that statement. 

“I did nothing,” Uther declared staring coldly around until the room fell into an awkward hush. “That is an artifact meant to search out and _destroy_ magic, not cause it.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur declared, pushing the sweaty fringe away from Merlin’s pale face. He slipped the sleeves of his coat down his arms and folded it up so that he could rest Merlin’s head upon it instead of the cold, hard floor. 

As he stood, he motioned to the unconscious man at his feet. “We all saw the magic take hold of him; he was not himself.” 

Arthur stalked forward. “You _planned_ this. You swore to me that this would be a fair trial when all along it’s been anything but. You _knew_ what would happen. You enchanted him with that… _thing_ and then told him that putting on the manacles would somehow save me! You used his loyalty to me and to Camelot as a weapon to entrap him just so that _you_ could save face. You have made a mockery of this court!” 

Uther raised a hand as if to strike Arthur. “Insolent whelp! He is a _sorcerer_ ; his reaction to the manacles proves it. They would not have affected him so were he not.” 

Arthur lifted his chin a notch as if daring him to do it. “And what? We are supposed to take your word for it just because you are king? You made the decrees against using magic of any kind and yet _you_ would use it! Many people have gone to their deaths for much less than what you did today. They are _your_ laws and yet you have broken them!” 

“The king is above the law!” Uther snarled in Arthur’s face as he grabbed a handful of his tunic. “A king must act in whatever way will best serve the land and protect the citizens, regardless of the method. Call it what you will, but I have protected you and Camelot from an even greater harm: a sorcerer within our walls, within our household…for years! Who knows what manner of foul sorcery he has subjected us to?” 

Arthur shoved against his father’s chest to free himself as the circle of onlookers stepped back, nervously giving them a wider berth. “Oh, yes,” Arthur agreed sarcastically, “all manner of enchantments. That’s why he’s still here, polishing my boots and mucking out my stables after almost _seven years_! I’m sure he must be very formidable; the man can’t walk a straight line without tripping over his own feet.” 

“If he is such a poor servant, then why do you defend him so?” 

“I never said he was a poor servant; I said he was clumsy. And I’m defending him because it was my belief that Camelot was a just and fair land that did not murder the innocent.” 

Uther snorted. “He is hardly what I would call an innocent.” 

Arthur’s reply was cut off by a feeble moan coming from behind him. Whipping around, he saw that Merlin was finally stirring and so he crouched down to carefully help Merlin up into a sitting position. “Merlin! Are you all right?” 

Merlin rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes and shook his head a couple of times as if to clear the cobwebs of unconsciousness from his mind. Finally, he croaked with a rueful smile, “I’ve been better.” 

“Are you hurt? Still in pain?” Arthur asked urgently. 

Merlin started to shake his head and then apparently thought better of it when he started to list sideways from the movement. “No. I just…feel strange.” 

“I can imagine,” Arthur commiserated. To Merlin, who had never known what it was to _not_ have magic, it must have felt like having a giant, gaping hole inside of him. “Here, let me give you a hand up.” Arthur slipped a hand into Merlin’s and used his other one to brace Merlin’s arm so that he wouldn’t fall. 

“I’m sorry for this,” Arthur murmured to Merlin mid-movement as he nodded surreptitiously to the cuffs. 

“It’s all right, Arthur,” Merlin replied, looking more like a newborn colt than a grown man, what with all the wobbling and knee shaking he was doing. “It’s no less than I expected, quite honestly. Well, except for the enchantment. _That_ was a bit of a surprise.” 

Uther glowered at Merlin as he approached the two men. “Release your hold over my son,” he demanded. 

Merlin looked down to where Arthur’s hand was still clasped at his elbow for support and said, “Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s the one holding me, actually.” 

Uther grabbed the gold and silver chain connecting Merlin’s hands and yanked it, so that Merlin stumbled forward out of Arthur’s grasp and landed hard on his knees before the king. “Do not act obtuse with me, boy! My patience has already run thin. Now, you will do as I command and release the prince from your vile enchantments.” 

Merlin looked up at Uther, whose eyes were gleaming with unholy zeal. Even though the king had him on his knees, Merlin refused to bow to Uther’s will and reveal himself, even if it would have meant his salvation. After what that hypocrite of a king had just done to him, he would never give the tyrant the satisfaction. As it happened, Merlin wouldn’t even have to try to defy him, seeing as Uther’s command was impossible to comply with. “I cannot undo what has not been done, my lord.” 

Uther cuffed Merlin across the cheek hard enough to make his head snap to the side from the force. As Arthur predictably came forward to try and protect his manservant from further abuse, the king looked up and demanded, “Guards, restrain the prince.” 

While the onlookers stood in stunned silence, four guards rushed forward to do Uther’s bidding. They grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and restrained his arms behind his back while the prince fought against their hold and snarled, “No! What are you doing? Let me go! Father, stop this outrage! Merlin has done nothing wrong!” 

“You see?” Uther said, motioning his hand toward the still-struggling prince. His voice was raised so that everyone in the room could hear him, yet his eyes were focused on Merlin. “Even now, he cannot stop himself from trying to protect and defend you. The charm you’ve worked must be powerful indeed.” 

“There is no charm!” Arthur ground out, momentarily getting one hand free before another guard jumped in to overpower him again. 

Merlin glared at the king defiantly and said nothing, for there was nothing he could say that Uther wouldn’t find a way to twist to his advantage. It wasn’t as if his fate were not sealed no matter what Merlin said or did, but he wasn't going to make it any easier for the king, either. 

Uther did not seem all that surprised. He walked a step closer and unsheathed his dagger, using it as an unspoken threat, looking at it as if idly considering what to do with it. 

“Father, no!” Arthur yelled before his voice was muffled by a hand across his mouth. 

Uther seemed not to have even noticed Arthur’s outburst. He continued, his eyes still focused on the wickedly sharp blade in his hand, “You claim to care for the prince, and yet, you will not remove your mark upon him.” 

“There is no mark!” Merlin huffed irritably. “I have done nothing to him. Perhaps he simply dislikes your brand of _justice_ , my lord.” 

Even this did not ruffle Uther’s feathers; it was as if he’d expected Merlin’s denial. He touched his fingers to the point of the blade and turned it in the light so that light reflected off the dagger’s honed edge. “I could try to punish you physically to make you comply, of course, but I have learned from the incident with the poisoned goblet that threat of pain and suffering to yourself is not a proper enticement. If you could but somehow delude yourself into believing that your protest would in some way benefit Arthur, I can have no doubt that you would endure any amount of torture for his sake.” 

Uther looked up and his gaze rested on his son, who at that moment more closely resembled an enraged bear than a prince. “I am sure that, were I to threaten to hurt Arthur, you would comply with my wishes without hesitation, but yet…perhaps pitting the father against his son has been your purpose all along. If that be so, you have surely failed.” 

“But there is one thing that you’ve failed to remember: while you have had many years in Camelot to discover find its strengths and weaknesses, I have had time to learn the same about _you_. You care not what happens to yourself, but there are others you _do_ care for. ” 

Staring at Merlin with a smug look of deep satisfaction, he demanded, “Guards, bring forth the physician, Gaius. He shall be made to pay the price for the boy’s defiance.” 

Merlin gasped, his head wheeling around to see two menacing-looking guards approaching his mentor. Gaius' eyes were wide with terror, but his jaw was fixed and his chin was raised as he struggled to stand without Leon's assistance. It was clear that he was willing to offer himself up to save Merlin. Yet, Merlin knew it was for naught; no matter what anyone else said or did, there was no way Uther was letting him out of Camelot alive. 

However Merlin knew there was something _he_ could do to save both Gaius and Arthur, and that was to tell the king what he wanted to hear. “No, wait, please!” Merlin begged, his arms raised and stretched toward the guards in supplication. “Please…” he repeated, his head now bowed before the king in defeat, “do not harm him; he didn't know. He…I…” Merlin swallowed past the huge lump in his throat as he looked first at Gaius and then at Arthur, willing them to understand what he was about to do. “I enchanted him, too.” 

Triumph suffused Uther’s face, as he all but crowed, “So you admit to the sorcery?” 

Merlin raised his head and looked at Arthur. His eyes pleaded for him to deny it, but Merlin could not; he would not allow either of them to suffer for his sake. “Yes.” 

Many members of the gallery gasped at his revelation, but still others looked upon him with pity, not believing the charges against him, but recognizing the sacrifice he was making for his mentor and his prince. 

Uther nodded as if he had known all along that would be Merlin’s response. “And you will remove the enchantment upon the prince?” 

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin nodded his chin toward the prince and asked politely, “If I may?” 

Uther nodded sternly. “No tricks, or I promise you that Gaius will suffer.” 

Gingerly, Merlin stood up, pausing to rub some life back into his sore knees. He approached the gaggle of guards restraining the prince and said, “Let him go.” The guards looked to the king for direction, and only after Uther gave them leave to, they released their hold on Arthur and stepped back to make room for Merlin. 

To say that Arthur was furious would have been a massive understatement. He grasped Merlin by the biceps and shook him as if that would make him see sense. “What are you _doing_?” he hissed. “I told you…” 

“Arthur,” Merlin cut off urgently, and then lowered his voice so he would not be overheard, “we don’t have much time. You need to stop this, for there is nothing you can say or do that will change your father’s mind. Further protests will only put you and Gaius in jeopardy.” 

He gave Arthur a ghost of a wry smile and said, “So we’re clear, I have no intention of actually dying, but just in case… You need to let this go, Arthur; let—” Merlin paused to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, “—let _me_ go, if it comes to that…because you have to survive. You are the Once and Future King, destined to unite Albion and bring peace to this land. It has been foretold. And if my sacrifice ends up bringing that about one day, then I have served my purpose.” 

Arthur looked so stunned, it was as if Merlin had slapped him. “You…you believe all that?” 

“Of course, Arthur,” Merlin said with a gentle smile. “I’ve always believed in you.” 

“Do not test my patience, sorcerer…” Uther warned impatiently. 

Seemingly obedient, Merlin nodded and placed his hands on either side of Arthur’s head, brought their foreheads together, and closed his eyes. Then he softly chanted, not in Ancient Runes, but in English, “Arthur Pendragon, I release you from the spells that bind you. Your mind will once again be yours and yours alone.” Then he opened his eyes and stared into Arthur’s for a long moment. He wanted to burn the image of their exact colour into his mind, just in case it was the last time he ever saw them. 

“I can’t do all that without you, Merlin,” Arthur said wordlessly, his lips moving, but no sound coming out. 

“You can,” Merlin mouthed back. “You _must_.” Then he stepped back and bowed his head, breaking the eye contact between them. 

Merlin bowed toward Uther and declared, “It is done.” 

Uther’s eyes narrowed as he gave Merlin a dubious look. He walked forward to stand in front of his son. “Arthur? How do you feel?” 

Merlin did not dare look at Arthur, but he prayed that he understood what was required of him now. After a moment’s pause, Arthur’s voice rang out stubbornly, “I’m fine, Father. There was no charm; I told you that.” 

Merlin sighed and would have gladly throttled Arthur in that moment if it would not have been misconstrued as regicide. 

Uther turned and glowered at Merlin accusingly, “I thought you said you removed the enchantment!” 

Merlin glared at Arthur and then tilted his head up defiantly. _Stubborn arse!_ If Arthur was too headstrong to keep himself out of harm’s way while Uther exacted his perverted sense of justice, then Merlin would just have to do it for him. 

“I _did_ , Sire,” Merlin replied, meeting the king’s stern glare, “but you must understand that the charm has been of long duration. It will probably take some time for the prince to return to his normal state.” 

Merlin could feel the anger of his betrayal rolling off Arthur in waves, but he refused to acknowledge it. It had to be done, for Arthur’s own good. 

Uther nodded, as if the answer made perfect sense. “Fine, fine. Now we will address your attempt to ply your foul craft upon me in my bedchamber. What was your aim? Was it to continue to keep me incapacitated or did you have some other nefarious purpose?” 

“I did not cause your mental infirmity, my lord, nor was I attempting to prolong it,” Merlin replied. “My purpose at your bedside was as I’d previously claimed: to help you overcome your malady.” 

“With _magic_?” Uther scoffed, clearly inferring that the very thought was absurd and abhorrent to him. 

“Despite your belief to the contrary, Sire, I firmly believe that magic is a force that can be used for good as well as ill.” 

“Treason!” Uther hissed. “How dare you speak to me so?” 

“You asked me a question, my lord. I am duty bound as a citizen of Camelot to answer it.” 

“How very convenient to use subservience as an excuse to spout even more of your inflammatory nonsense.” 

“At this point, it seems to matter very little _what_ I say, Sire,” Merlin pointed out wryly, “as you are determined to find fault with it. Therefore, I might as well be honest.” 

“Honest!” Uther snorted. “Oh yes, then by all means…” he mocked, waving his hand as if to encompass the entire gallery, “let us hear more of this _honesty_.” 

Merlin raised his chin proudly, his previous deferential air gone. If Uther was going to actually give him a chance to speak his mind, no matter how sarcastically meant, then he was damn well going to take it. “Very well. Then, you should know that you were much more ill than you were previously led to believe. Your infirmity was very much life-threatening.” 

Uther whirled on the spot to demand of Gaius, “Is this true?” 

Gaius bent his head in sorrow. Unlike the prince, Gaius understood the sacrifice that Merlin was trying to make. “It is, my lord. While Arthur knew the truth of the matter, I did not wish to incite false alarm. Therefore, nothing was to be said to the Council until we knew better how you would respond to treatment.” 

Merlin’s sharp voice drew all eyes to him as he insisted, “And while I own that Gaius is certainly the more gifted healer, he wasn’t the one that was there when your health took a sudden turn for the worse. _I_ was, and had I not been there to intervene when I did, you would be dead. You owe your _life_ to me, and now you would repay that debt by making _my_ life forfeit.” 

“You made your _own_ life forfeit from the moment you uttered your first spell,” Uther declared dispassionately. “The laws against sorcery are clear and have been in place since before you were born. You cannot say you were never warned.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to say more, but Uther cut him off with a sharp movement of his hand. “I have heard enough to make my judgment. You, Merlin of Ealdor, have shown yourself to be an evil sorcerer by enchanting the Crown Prince and the Court Physician, as well as surely performing other untold heinous acts in order to cause irreparable damage to the Crown and to Camelot.” 

“For these unforgivable crimes, I hereby sentence you as such: At dawn tomorrow, you will be brought forth to the town square and flogged before all of Camelot. You will be made an example of; receiving six strikes with a brine-soaked whip; one for each year of your _service_ to the House of Pendragon. For each cry of pain that you issue or word that you utter, three more strikes shall follow. This will continue until you have taken all of your blows in silence.” 

“No!” Arthur bellowed, his voice drowning out the hushed gasps from the gallery. He rushed toward his father and Merlin, only to be stopped by the same guards that had restrained him moments before. “Father, how can you do this? He saved your life!” 

Soaking the whip in brine was a torture usually reserved only for the most heinous of crimes, as it forced salt deeply into every gash it made and was excruciatingly painful. 

Uther continued as if Arthur had never spoken. “Once that is over, you shall be secured to the pyre where you shall be burned at the stake until you there is nothing left of you save bone and ash. This shall serve as a lesson to any other sorcerers who may be in hiding, waiting for their chance to strike.” 

At this, Arthur struggled even harder against his captors’ grip. “Father, I beg of you; please do not do this!” he cried, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

Uther bridged the distance between them to stand before Arthur and stated calmly, “Soon, Arthur. Soon you will be free of the evil sorcerer’s influence and all will be well again. I will make sure of it.” He nodded toward the guards and ordered, “Take the prince to his chambers and ensure that he remains there until after the sorcerer is dead.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old English Spell Glossary:
> 
> _Forbærnan:_ Burn with fire.


	5. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

 

The gallery seemed uncharacteristically grim as the witnesses filed silently out of the Council Chamber. Agravaine watched with pursed lips whilst the serving girl Gwen rushed over to aid the physician when he nearly stumbled getting to his feet. In truth, Gaius looked at least ten years older than he had before the trial began. From his red-rimmed eyes to the shoulders that were hunched in defeat, it was clear that Merlin meant much to the old man.

It had been obvious to Agravaine from the moment the trial began that things were not going to go well for Merlin. After all, he knew his brother-in-law only too well.

Granted, Agravaine did not for one second believe that Merlin actually _was_ a sorcerer; in that, he definitely shared his mistress’ view. While Merlin was much smarter and more troublesome than most people gave him credit for, he was also too clumsy, too graceless to wield such a noble and wondrous power like his Lady did.

But Uther had played on both Merlin and Arthur’s sensibilities like a virtuoso and had obtained the desired result in the end. Agravaine could grudgingly admit that his brother-in-law had always been a brilliant tactician, and today was no exception. When it came to magic, Uther had become quite ruthless.

Before Arthur’s birth, Camelot had welcomed magic users, even courted them. Eager to capitalise on his supremacy after winning Camelot through battle, Uther had invited the High Priestess Nimueh to court to be his Court Sorcerer. She had graciously obliged and so began an era of wealth and prosperity in the land, a time where magic was allowed to flourish and grow in peace.

But that had all changed when, after several years of trying to conceive, it was determined that Ygraine could not have a child.

Uther had always claimed that his use of magic to help Ygraine conceive was due to his love for his wife; but Agravaine knew that was a lie. Uther needed an heir for his kingdom, that much was certain. But when Ygraine was found to be barren, Uther had refused to do the logical thing. He should have set Ygraine aside and married another; someone who _could_ produce the needed heir. That is what is expected of a king; and surely Ygraine would have understood, even if it would have broken her heart. Uther could even have kept Ygraine as a mistress, if he would not be parted from her. Had Uther only done that, Agravaine could have forgiven him. Had he done that, Ygraine would still be alive.

Instead, Uther had been greedy. He refused to give up his beloved wife and queen for the sake of the kingdom, but neither would he give up his dream for a son. Rather, he convinced poor Ygraine that magic was the answer...that it was the miracle cure. Ygraine, blinded by her devotion to her husband and her love for a child she could have no other way, had followed Uther into the devil’s bargain, not knowing she would pay for it with her life.

And then, once the king had his precious, _unnatural_ son, Uther refused to admit his own culpability in Ygraine’s death. Instead, Uther became obsessed with blaming the magic and not on his own ignorance of it.

Thus the Great Purge had begun, vilifying everything even remotely related to magic.

But Agravaine knew better. Magic was, and always had been, simply a _tool_ , an instrument one used to accomplish a task. And just like any other tool, there were rules that needed to be followed if one wanted to ensure a specific outcome. Yet Uther had not heeded the laws that governed the magic’s use, preferring to stubbornly believe that those rules would not apply to him simply because he was the king...and his arrogance had cost Agravaine the life of both his beloved sister and his noble brother.

Being the eldest, Tristan had valiantly tried to defend their sister’s honour after her untimely and unforgivable death. But Uther was not a warrior king for nothing, and the body of Agravaine’s brother now lay beside his sister in the hated vaults beneath Camelot.

And, while Agravaine had been filled with just as much hatred and rage as Tristan, he could not follow in his brother’s footsteps and challenge the bastard that killed his sister. After Tristan’s death, he had been the sole heir to the duBois line and his responsibility to his own family had to come before his wish for revenge. So, he had shouldered the mantle of duty and tried to move on, to forget that the cursed kingdom of Camelot ever existed.

That was, until a year ago when Morgana had contacted him.

Morgana. She was the _true_ heir to the Pendragon throne; the only one in Agravaine’s opinion that deserved to wear the crown. She was born of woman rather than of magic, and though she had Pendragon blood, she hated Uther and Arthur almost as much as he did. And she would restore magic to the land so that no one would be persecuted for their Gods given talents.

Agravaine stood and glanced back at the throne that had once been his sister’s. He had been puzzled and more than a little bit surprised by Uther’s request that he sit on the Queen’s throne rather than offering it to Arthur, as was customary. He could only assume this was done as a purposeful slight to his son to send the prince a message that even _he_ had to follow the king’s laws or be subject to punishment.

Certainly, being forced to stand where a servant normally would have been could not have been pleasant for Arthur, especially since just yesterday, he’d been seated in the king’s own throne. Agravaine supposed that the fact that it was his own manservant who was on trial didn’t help either.

 _Merlin has indeed been a great influence on Arthur,_ Agravaine mused as he’d taken in the glittering eyes and belligerent pose of his brother-in-law’s spawn. _And not a good one,_ he thought with a frown.

When Agravaine had first arrived in Camelot, he’d been shocked by two things; one, that the child that had killed his sister grew up to look so much like her and, two, that Arthur was not nearly as as moldable as his mistress had believed.

Despite being thrown into the Regency literally overnight, Arthur had already shown a surprising amount of confidence and wisdom in his new role. At first, Agravaine could not account for it, but now he believed he had discovered the very unlikely source. Merlin.

Merlin, who was constantly by Arthur’s side, questioning and supporting his master in equal turns. Merlin, who had cottoned on to many of Morgana’s plans and discovered ways to thwart them. Merlin, who was now condemned to die a most painful death in the morning.

While Agravaine had never been witness to the countless trials that Uther had held during the Great Purge, he nonetheless felt that his brother’s bloodtlust for sorcerers must have only deepened over the years. Nothing else could account for Uther’s use of a magical artifact to enchant an innocent into ‘proving’ his guilt. Uther’s mind _must_ still be touched with madness if he would take such extreme measures just to frame one lowly manservant, albeit one that worked in the Royal household.

And, judging by the stunned and wary looks on several Council members during and after the sham of a trial, Agravaine was not the only one thinking it. But what was perhaps even more worrisome, Uther was _just_ sound enough of mind to ensure that no one would be able to take his power away from him ever again.

More and more, it seemed that Uther was really just a firebomb of paranoia waiting to explode into full-blown madness. If Agravaine could just figure out a way to make _himself_ appear as an indispensable ally to the king, it could pave the way for his Lady to control Camelot through him.

“That was very adeptly handled, my lord,” Agravaine said to Uther, sidling up next to him as the room emptied. “Your dedication to the cause of eradicating magic is indeed commendable.”

“Something needed to be done,” Uther concurred. “The methods I used may have been abhorrent to some, but I could not risk allowing the sorcerer to remain in Arthur’s service. Surely you see that, Agravaine.”

“Indeed, Sire,” Agravaine agreed congenially. “Sometimes the end justifies the means. You had to take decisive action to protect your son and Camelot.”

“I knew such attention and devotion could not be natural,” Uther muttered as if to himself.

“You mean the boy’s devotion to the prince?” Agravaine ventured.

Uther shook his head. “No, Arthur’s unseemly tolerance of the boy’s… _antics_.”

Agravaine raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had easily seen Merlin’s devotion to Arthur; what he had not realised until that moment was that the emotion appeared to be mutual.

“The sorcerer has _never_ shown the proper amount of respect and deference to him, even when he was first hired. And yet, rather than addressing the lapses of manners immediately so the behaviour would stop, Arthur has simply allowed it; encouraged it, even. That was not how he was raised, what he was taught.”

 _Very interesting,_ Agravaine thought, his mind turning toward more...carnal reasons for such an attachment. _Perhaps there is even more to their relationship than I had ever considered…_

Agravaine’s outer appearance gave no hint to his private thoughts. “Perhaps there is an explanation besides magic for such behaviour on the prince’s part?” he offered.

“I fear not,” Uther replied. “The Arthur I know would never defy me in that way. I should have seen the truth of the enchantment long before now. I can only hope the damage that has been done to Arthur is not of a permanent nature.”

“I’m sure all will be well again once the sorcerer is dead,” Agravaine suggested magnanimously.

Uther clapped a friendly hand to Agravaine’s shoulder. “Let us hope so. Camelot cannot afford to have someone so close to the Crown being controlled by magic.”

As Uther stalked out of the room, Agravaine smirked at the king’s turn of phrase, for if things all went to plan, then that was _exactly_ what Uther would soon be.

 

As the half-dozen guards that surrounded him shoved the prince through his chamber door and quickly locked the door behind him, Arthur pounded his fists ineffectually against the other side, a long string of earthy curse words tumbling from his lips in protest. When it became clear that his captors planned on ignoring his verbal assault, Arthur picked up a metal goblet from a side table and hurled it across the room in a fit of pique. It narrowly missed hitting his ersatz manservant perched on the rug before the hearth before pinging off the stone wall behind him and rolling to a stop next to the table.

George gasped, wide-eyed and pale, before hastening to his feet and bowing his head in an obvious sign of deference. “I…I am sorry if I have displeased you, Sire,” he stammered falteringly, obviously still thinking of his huge faux pas from earlier and was hoping to not repeat his mistake.

Arthur swore again under his breath. The events of the morning were obviously affecting him significantly if he’d missed noticing the annoying presence of his new manservant in the room.

Judging by the perfectly aligned row of polished leather boots at the man’s feet, it was obvious that George had been at the activity for some time, perhaps since the moment Arthur had left his chambers, in an effort to win back his master’s favour. Arthur also noticed that the huge display of food from earlier was gone, replaced by a jug and a metal platter with some bread, cheese, and grapes for picking at between meals.

Arthur waved away the young man’s concern with one hand. “My ire was not directed at you, George,” Arthur explained. “I did not see you there; I thought I was alone.”

“No harm done, Sire,” George reassured Arthur hesitantly, bending to retrieve the now-dented goblet from the floor and placing it on the edge of the table. “Would you like a bit of wine to calm your nerves?”

Arthur sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Finally, he nodded, plopping himself down at the table rather despondently. “I probably could do with some, actually.”

Arthur made to reach for the jug, but stopped at George’s tutting noise. “There, there, Sire. You leave it all to me.” George scurried over and poured out the wine, proffering the goblet with a flourish as if to say, ‘Here, at least, is something I know how to do well.’

Arthur was too emotionally drained to even feel irritated by the bowing and scraping. After all, he knew the obsequious little toad _meant_ well, and really, it wasn’t _George’s_ fault that he wasn’t Merlin.

_Merlin…that damned stubborn self-sacrificing git!_

Arthur grimaced, lifted the glass to his lips woodenly and downed the entire contents in one before handing the empty glass back to the hovering servant.

“More, Sire?” George immediately asked, his other hand already reaching for the jug’s handle.

“I’d better not,” Arthur admitted, slouching down in his chair with a sigh. “I need to keep my wits about me.”

Left without anything to employ his hands, George tucked them behind his back. He stood in silence for several moments before he apparently remembered that his prince did not appreciate the subservient gesture. “Um…” George cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How was your morning, my lord?”

Arthur lifted his head and looked at George askance. “You mean you haven’t heard? I would have thought that the news would have spread like wildfire below stairs…”

“Perhaps it has, Sire, but I have been here in your chambers, attending to my duties.”

Arthur looked about the room and discovered that his bed was perfectly made, his clothes all tidied up, his desk straightened, every surface dusted and polished, and of course, his boots shined. “Yes,” he admitted. “You have been very….efficient.”

Predictably, George puffed out his chest as if he were the cock of the walk. “Thank you, my lord. I live to serve.”

“I can see that,” Arthur said, before looking at the weaselly man appraisingly. “If that be true, then I have another task for you.”

“What is it, Sire?”

“I need you to pass along a message to someone for me.”

George looked extremely wary of and more than a little discomforted by the request. “My lord, I’m not sure if that would be best…”

“Oh, calm down, George,” Arthur huffed. “It is a perfectly harmless request,” he fibbed, “and certainly nothing that will get you into any trouble with the king.”

“Very well, Sire,” George acknowledged reluctantly. “What is your message?”

“Seeing as my father has seen fit to confine me to my chambers for the foreseeable future, I will need to have someone take over the knights’ training for me. To that end, you will find Sir Leon—do you know of whom I speak?”

George’s expression lightened as he nodded. “Yes, my lord. He is the king’s First Knight, is he not?”

“Just so,” Arthur agreed. “He will need to fill in for me until my father sees fit to end my confinement. Find him, tell him that I expect him to train the recruits on maces in the morning, and then bring me his reply so that I know it will be done. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Sire. I shall take care of it right away.”

As he watched the servant scurry off to perform his charge, Arthur could only pray that the plans that he had devised for Merlin’s escape would be enough to avert disaster.

 

“A bit late for your morning ride, isn’t it Sir?” his regular groom asked Agravaine as he approached the stall that housed his horse.

“Yes,” Agravaine nodded amiably to the boy, although inside the question made him seethe. _What right did the boy, or anyone for that matter, have to question his comings and goings?_ “An early council meeting today, you see.”

The groom’s countenance brightened considerably. “Oh, of course. Shall I saddle her up for you then?”

“Please.”

Agravaine’s forced smile seemed to discomfort the young man. He sidled past Agravaine, taking care to keep his torso pressed to the horse so as not to touch the prince’s uncle and then nodded,”I’ll take care of it right away, my lord.”

 

It was not long before Agravaine was knocking on the door to Morgana’s hovel. Morgana’s expectant face appeared as the door was wrenched open suddenly. “Well?” she demanded, leaving the door ajar and walking back toward the hearth to stir the stew simmering over the fire.

“Merlin burns at first light,” Agravaine informed her.

“Excellent,” Morgana said with relish before turning back to face Agravaine. “But you must beware.”

“Of what?”

“You do realise that Arthur will try to free him?”

“I don’t see how,” Agravaine scoffed. “The king has him under lock and key, heavily guarded.”

“And if you think that is going to stop him, then _clearly_ you don’t know my brother. He has raised escaping from under the king’s nose to an art form.”

“Do you honestly think he would be foolish enough to risk so much for just a servant?”

“He has before. Merlin had only been in Camelot a few months when he drank poison for Arthur. Arthur went on a quest to retrieve the antidote, much to Uther’s displeasure. The king imprisoned him for a week afterward, but Merlin was cured. I’d expect he’d be at least as foolhardy now.”

“Curious... “ Agravaine said, scratching his chin in thought.

“ _What_ is curious?” Morgana demanded impatiently.

“Something the king said to me. He told me that he’d always thought that Arthur had an _unnatural attachment_ to his manservant. He, of course, believes Arthur enchanted...but we know better.”

“So, you’re thinking that perhaps it’s unnatural in another way?” Morgana asked as if intrigued by the theory.

“Well, Arthur _did_ defend Merlin most vehemently,” Agravaine mused.

“And what about Merlin? Did he defend Arthur as well?”

“No. He had no need to, although it did seem as if he refrained from mentioning the prince as much as possible. Everything Merlin said during his explanation was very logical and plausible. He did not incriminate himself in the slightest. I have no doubt that the story he told the court was true, regardless of what the king believes happened. But yet...” Agravaine paused with a bit of a flair for the dramatic.

Morgana glared at Agravaine as if to say, _Get on with it already!_

“It was strange, though,” Agravaine continued. “Uther used an artifact during the trial, one that he claimed was used to ensnare sorcerers.”

 _That_ got Morgana’s attention. “What sort of artifact?”

“A magical one,” Agravaine explained grimly. “A set of shackles.”

“Iron?” Morgana asked, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered.

“It was hard to tell. They were very ornate; made of silver and gold, encrusted with gemstones. But perhaps they were lined with iron. But I can tell you this for certain; the cuffs enchanted the boy.”

“Enchanted!” Morgana breathed before her face got red and her sneer turned ugly. “Uther used magic? In front of everyone? I always knew he was a hypocrite, but this! He must truly be mad to have attempted such a display.” Her eyes speared Agravaine’s. “What exactly did the cuffs do to Merlin?”

“I’m not sure, Mistress, but Merlin appeared a bit dazed and confused, as if he’d taken a half-dose of a sleeping draft. Even still, it took Uther telling him that placing his wrists inside the shackles would save Arthur’s life before he could be convinced to do it.”

“Interesting…” Morgana drawled. “Perhaps your theory might be true after all. I’d never considered it before because of Arthur’s attraction to Gwen, but certainly what has grown between Merlin and Arthur is no ordinary attachment.”

“I also heard that Arthur has ended his dalliance with the maid,” Agravaine said.

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Now that _does_ surprise me. Why, Arthur has been absolutely smitten with Gwen for years!”

“Nonetheless, she and Arthur had an argument about it.”

“And how would you know? Have you been lurking about in the corridors, Agravaine?” Morgana teased darkly. “Hoping to win Prince Arthur’s cast-offs for yourself?”

“No!” Agravaine blustered, insulted. “I heard the chambermaids discussing it during their chores.”

“Hmm,”Morgana mused, “then perhaps I’ve been mistaken and Gwen is not as dangerous to me as originally anticipated. Perhaps the real threat is Merlin.”

Agravaine laughed. “Merlin! Certainly he could never be Arthur’s Queen.”

“No, but he _could_ be Arthur’s Consort,” Morgana challenged. “Assuming our line of thinking is correct.”

“Arthur would _never_ …”

“Would never what? Raise the status of a commoner to nobility? I assure you, he already has. His knights, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine were all common born. Or perhaps you meant making a servant a royal? He’d already planned to do that with Gwen.”

Morgana walked behind Agravaine, trailing her fingers along the line of his shoulders. “Or perhaps you meant buggering a man? Or allowing one to bugger him?”

She laughed. “Oh Agravaine, you are delightfully naive! Arthur’s been on campaign. Of _course_ he has buggered men! And perhaps the other way as well, whilst he was still a squire. It is a rite of passage for soldiers, is it not?”

“Not if the soldier is a Crown Prince,” Agravaine protested.

“Well, unlike you, I believe Arthur quite capable of all of the above. I’ve seen what they've been like with each other since Merlin first came to Camelot. It was whispered, even during the time when I was the king’s ward, that Arthur and Merlin were lovers. At the time I did not believe it, but now... Well, in that light, I think it certain that Arthur will attempt to free Merlin and help him escape... _Attempt_ being the key word.”

“I should warn the king right away, then,” Agravaine said, taking a step toward the door.

“Wait!” Morgana commanded. “We don't want to keep the status quo, we want to push this situation to our advantage. What I need from you will require a certain amount of finesse, Agravaine. Do you think you can handle it?”

Agravaine bowed in a courtly gesture. “Whatever my lady commands,” he replied.

“Then what I require is this. You must turn Uther against Arthur; make him believe that Arthur is willing to commit treason over Merlin. To do this you must cast doubt on Uther’s firmly-held belief that Arthur is enchanted. Instead, you must plant the thought that Arthur could be helping Merlin of his own free will, that he is a friend of magic. So, when Arthur is inevitably caught trying to free Merlin, it will prove to the mad king that his son is a traitor. And he will begin to trust _you_ as an advisor and as his sole remaining kin, which will leave him wide open for our control.”

“It shall be done, Milady,” Agravaine vowed.

“Good. Then perhaps tomorrow we shall have _two_ men on the pyre instead of one.”

 

Once Merlin’s sham of a trial was over and care of Gaius had been handed over to Gwen, Sir Leon headed straight for the training grounds. This was not so he could take over the training of the new recruits, but because he sorely needed to stick his sword in something, _anything_...repeatedly, and with a great deal of violence.

It had been one thing when Leon had believed that the king only wished to protect his kingdom from the threat of evil sorcery. No matter how much he hated loss of life in general, Leon had been able to go into battle for his king with a clean conscience, knowing he was doing something in service of his sovereign and his country. But the last two days had opened his eyes to just the sort of man Uther really was. Rather than being a man that Leon could be proud to serve, he’d shown himself to be vengeful, spiteful, headstrong and cruel. And now that the blinkers were off, he realised that today was not the first time.

The king had allowed his obsession with magic to eat away at him for years until he could not think in a logical manner with regard to it. The king had blindly taken the word of that devil of a witchfinder Aredian and nearly condemned a good and innocent man to death. It was the king’s arrogance with regard to the Druids possession of the Cup of Life that led directly to the traitor Morgana and her sister Morgause using the Cup for their own evil ends.

Leon still didn’t quite understand how the pair of High Priestesses had been thwarted, but knowing what he did about Merlin, Leon would have bet every last coin in his possession that the manservant had factored into it. He and Lancelot had never reached the warning bell, which had been their supposed mission, yet there was no way Merlin would have failed had that been his true quest. Not with Arthur’s life on the line.

He had always considered himself a man of honour. And while it was true that he was now involved in a plan that included treason against his king, his conscience was quiet. Leon had discovered long ago that while he was a knight of Camelot, Arthur was the man he _truly_ served. He had watched Arthur fight his way up the ranks of knights, not allowing his title to buy the way for him. He’d proven himself time and again and earned his men’s respect and loyalty. Arthur was a man with an innate sense of honour and fairness that Leon had rarely seen in anyone, let alone a royal.

Even when Arthur could have lied, could have kept the kingdom in his hands by telling the Council that he believed Uther to still be impaired, he did not. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him, because it would have meant acting without honour. Arthur would not want a throne that he hadn’t earned, even though it would have made the job of protecting Merlin much easier.

Leon still marvelled over the fact that not only was Merlin a sorcerer hiding in Camelot, he was a sorcerer that _protected the prince_. Uther had always maintained that anyone who used magic was evil; obviously that was not true. And if Merlin was willing to fight at Arthur’s side, Leon wondered how many more magic users might be drawn to the charismatic prince if they knew that he accepted magic?

He wondered, for not the first time, whether Arthur would have any opportunity to free Merlin himself, or even get word to him about their plan. However, treason or no, Leon knew that he stood with Arthur, and that included breaking Merlin out of prison himself if it came down to it. He just hoped it wouldn’t.

It wasn’t long before Leon’s muscles burned and his practice dummy looked much worse for wear. He set aside his sword and drank the large cup of water his squire had proffered, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his gambeson.

A pointed throat-clearing noise caused Leon to turn to find a palace servant bowing low before him. “Sir Leon?” the man inquired in a nasal voice.

“Yes, I am Sir Leon,” Leon replied. “How may I help you?”

The man nodded succinctly and informed him, “I am George, Prince Arthur’s new manservant. I have been tasked to deliver a message to you.”

 _Arthur’s new manservant?_ Leon suspected that initial meeting might not have gone too well, but he kept his suspicions to himself. Instead he nodded and inquired, “And what is the message?”

“My lord asked me to inform you that he expects you to take over the training of the recruits until such time as His Majesty sees fit to allow the prince to return to duty. I believe he said he wished you to drill the men on maces in the morning?”

 _And there it is,_ Leon thought grimly. _The plan proceeds._

“Milord asked me to wait for a reply?” George hinted not very subtly.

“Yes,” Leon agreed. “Please let the prince know that he can count on me. All will be in readiness.”

George bowed low once more. “Very good, Sir. I shall inform him right away.”

 _You do that,_ Leon thought as the obsequious servant hurried back toward the keep. _And may the gods be with us._

 

It was mid-afternoon by the time Agravaine returned from his ride. In spite of the seasonably cool weather, he was hot, dusty and rather sore. Despite his relatively youthful appearance, his bones were not as young as they once were and often liked to remind him of that fact.

 _Nothing a good soak can’t cure_ , he thought as he climbed the steps into the castle at a steady pace. Luckily his manservant Seger was at hand when he reached his rooms.

As the boy removed Agravaine’s travelling cloak and hurriedly brushed down his other clothes, Agravaine informed him, “I would like you to draw me a bath. And see if you can’t round me up a bit of a repast, since I missed the noontime meal.”

“Yes, my lord,” Seger replied, setting aside the brush and shaking out the cloak.

“Oh,” Agravaine added, “and when you return, I will have a note that I would like to have delivered to the king. It is of the utmost importance that he gets it.”

“Of course,” Seger nodded. “I shall take it to him as soon as I return, if you wish.”

Agravaine smiled kindly. “Thank you, Seger.”

Once the servant had left, Agravaine sat down behind his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. _Time to set the trap,_ he thought as he put quill to paper.

_“My dear Brother…”_

 

Before leaving his rooms, Leon changed out of his chainmail and gambeson and into a non-descript tunic, breeches and a hooded cloak before heading into the waning afternoon sun. It was a matter of disguise and necessity both, for where he meant to go, knights of Camelot were not exactly welcome.

He made sure that the hood covered his face as he travelled through the more populated parts of the Lower Town, not wanting anyone to recognise him. He trudged past Gwen’s home and Elyan’s forge, past the Rising Sun and the baker’s stall, all the way to the end of the lane. Instead of entering any of his regular haunts, Leon turned down a dark alley, one that backed up to the citadel wall itself. About halfway down was his destination; The Hog’s Head, a tavern that also housed one of the more famous houses of ill-repute in Camelot.

As Leon stepped inside, there was barely a lull in the din coming from the crowded main room. The patrons were much coarser and rowdy than the people that frequented The Rising Sun, but the Hog’s Head was the kind of place where no one questioned your comings and goings. This made it a perfect place to hide in plain sight when needed...which made it perfect for Gwaine. (The lower cost for the ale here probably didn’t hurt much either.)

Leon approached the attractive middle-aged woman behind the bar and enquired, “I’m looking for a man named Tyrone. Can you tell me where I could find him?”

The woman gave Leon an eagle-eyed perusal before nodding once as if satisfied. “Ah,yes. Up the back,” she said, nodding her head toward the staircase behind her. “‘E’s been expectin’ you.”

“Thank you,” Leon said politely, just barely holding back the courtly bow that was so ingrained in him. He glanced left and right, surveying the room, but no one was paying him any mind. He trudged up the stairs, silently wondering how he was supposed to know where to go. But he needn’t have worried, as there was only one room.

Leon rapped smartly on the closed door.

“Enter,” a muffled voice called out. Leon lifted the latch and pushed open the door on its squeaky hinges to find Gwaine, dressed in a tunic and boots that looked much more at home in a place like this than at the castle. His feet were propped up on the table in a seemingly careless gesture, but Leon noticed the sharpness in his eyes and the way that he was fingering the top of one boot--the one he usually kept his throwing dagger tucked into. Gwaine’s expression brightened once he realized the identity of his mysterious guest. The front legs of his chair made a thunking sound as he pulled his feet down to make room at the table.

“Leon,” Gwaine drawled in greeting after the other knight shut the door behind himself. “Have a seat!” He indicated the chair opposite his.

Leon threw off his cloak, glancing around the room as he took a seat. The room was shockingly large and clean, especially considering the the tavern’s reputation and normal clientele.

Gwaine chuckled at the look of bewilderment on Sir Leon’s face.

“Catriona and I have a bit of an...arrangement. I get use of this room in exchange for a bit of help when things get rowdy downstairs. That, and provide some _companionship_ for the mistress.” Gwaine waggled his eyebrows at that.

“Are you her kept boy, then?” Leon asked disapprovingly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Leon found himself snickering despite himself. “Only you, Gwaine.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a smile before his expression sobered and he leaned closer to Leon across the table. “What news?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?” Leon aimed a skeptical look over his shoulder. He’d have thought that gossip as juicy as Prince Arthur’s manservant being convicted of sorcery would have already made the rounds in the Lower Town.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty. Now I want to know the _truth_.”

“Merlin’s trial was a complete farce,” Leon informed Gwaine bitterly. “The king never had any intention of giving him a fair hearing, despite appearances. It was clear to me that Uther had decided upon his course of action before Merlin even entered the room. Nothing we could have said or done would have swayed him from his absolute certainty of Merlin’s guilt.”

“Can’t say that I’m much surprised.”

Leon sighed deeply.

“Is it true that Merlin confessed, then? That’s what they’ve been going on about below stairs.”

“Only after _extreme_ duress,” Leon replied with a solemn nod. “And to save Arthur and Gaius from suspicion.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed angrily. “What kind of ‘extreme duress’?”

“The king used enchanted manacles to supposedly prove his guilt.”

“And _how_ did they prove Merlin’s guilt?” His hands were clenched into fists.

“According to Gaius, they cast some sort of spell, but only on sorcerers. It tricks them into allowing themselves to be locked in the shackles.” Leon wiped across his suddenly dry mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve seen people after they’ve been enchanted, and that’s frightening enough. But I’ve never actually witnessed the magic _as it happened_. The way those cuffs messed with Merlin’s head...made him so malleable, pliable, ripe for Uther’s deception...It was truly terrifying.” Leon couldn’t hold back his shiver of revulsion.

Gwaine’s response was a bit different; he shot to his feet and banged his fists against the table. “That hypocritical bastard! Sure, he’ll string up, behead, or burn anyone _else_ who even breathes the word sorcery, but he can use it? And on _Merlin_? Fuck him! I think he needs a few _more_ holes poked in him, and I know just the guy to do it!”

Leon put up his hands and made a shushing motion. “I know you’re upet; so am I. But talk like that is treason, Gwaine.”

“So, what’re you going to do? Arrest me?” Gwaine shoved both wrists out toward Leon. “Go ahead! It’s not like Camelot isn’t already corrupt enough right now!”

Leon shoved Gwaine’s hands away with a beleaguered sigh. “Of course I’m not going to arrest you! What do you take me for?”

“A knight of Camelot,” Gwaine spit out as if the words were filthy.

“So are you!” Leon protested.

“No. I’m _Arthur’s_ knight. I would never serve a tyrant like Uther. If I’d wanted that, I would’ve just stayed home.”

Leon looked at Gwaine askance. “What?”

“I’m sure you remember the first time I was in Camelot, right? I tried to tell the king about the two imposters and their enchanted swords, but would he listen? No, of course he wouldn’t. And why was that?”

“I…”

“I’ll tell you why! It’s because I wasn’t noble, that’s why! That’s such a _shit_ reason for believing or not believing someone! Being noble doesn’t make you any more trustworthy than being a peasant. Trust me, I should know,” Gwaine said bitterly.

Leon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Am I...missing something, here?”

In response, Gwaine yanked at the metal chain so that the treasures that were looped on it now lay on top of his clothes. “Did you never wonder what these were?”

Leon glanced down at the gold ring and engraved silver emblem. “I...figured they were some sort of keepsake.”

“They are,” Gwaine replied, sitting down in his chair as if suddenly weary. “They are the only things I have left from my father.”

Peering closer and fingering the pendant, Leon said in surprise, “But that looks like a coat of arms.”

“It _is_ a coat of arms; it’s the Orkney coat of arms, to be exact.”

“Orkney? But I thought that was an extinct bloodline?”

“Not quite. And it wasn’t the bloodline that was the problem; it was that rotten, good-for-nothing Caerleon. It’s no wonder that new knight recruitment in his kingdom has dropped like a stone. It seems that word is finally getting out that the king refuses to care for the widows and orphans he creates!”

“So, then you really _are_ Sir Gwaine!” Leon smiled at the irony.

Gwaine shrugged. “Not that it matters. Uther doesn’t exactly ask many questions before condemning people to death, now does he? Not that I’d want him to know about my title, mind. I’ve got absolutely zero interest in being a knight in _Uther’s_ court. From what I’ve seen, he’s ten times worse than Caerleon.”

Leon sat down, put his head in his hands, and sighed. “I’m beginning to think that you might be right.”

Gwaine appeared disturbed by Leon’s melancholy mood and cleared his throat self-consciously. “So, what’re we doing about Arthur’s plan?”

“Have you gotten the horse yet?” Leon asked.

“Yeah. I called upon an old horse trader buddy of mine. She’s a beauty; Merlin will love her. Would rival Llamrei herself.”

“You mean a poacher,” Leon deadpanned.

Gwaine shrugged and grinned unrepentantly. “Po _tay_ to, po _tah_ to…”

Leon pursed his lips, but didn’t otherwise comment.

“So, did you bring Merlin’s things, then?”

“Ah, no. I, uh, hid them in the armoury.”

Gwaine huffed and his face puckered up like he’d just eaten something sour. “Great. _That_ sounds like fun.”

Leon gave Gwaine a dirty look. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have much time. It’s not like I could go traipsing about the castle with a bloody spellbook and magical staff and without anyone noticing!”

Both of Gwaine’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Can’t say as the book surprises me, but a magic staff? _Really_?”

“Not just a staff, either. It’s a _Sidhe_ staff.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows went up so high, they were hidden by his fringe. “Merlin...has a Faerie staff…”

Leon nodded.

“And where, pray tell, did Merlin find _that_?”

“He had a run in with one after it tried to kill Arthur. It didn’t end so well for the Sidhe, so I’ve been told.”

“Holy…” Gwaine breathed.

“Pretty much,” Leon agreed.

“Ah, our baby has grown up so fast,” Gwaine said, pretending to dash away a tear of pride like a proud parent. “And you say you hid the staff in the armoury? Where would you have hid something like _that_ without fear of discovery?”

Leon smirked. “At the back of the stack of lancepoles that need repairing.”

“Ah yes, very clever,” Gwaine agreed. “I don’t think anyone’s gone _near_ that pile since before I became a knight.”

“I don’t think anyone’s gone near it since _I_ became a knight, except when Arthur makes them. I think he saves that duty for the recruits that _really_ annoy him.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“Oh, here.” Leon fished out a key and slid it across the table at Gwaine.

Gwaine picked it up and studied it, and not recognising it asked, “What’s this to?”

“There is a secret passageway that leads directly to the the Lower Town. You’ll need to get into the armoury the normal way, but you can get out through the passageway.”

Gwaine nodded. “Where’s the hidden entrance located?”

“Behind the shield at the far end of the room; the one with the red and yellow vertical stripes. I hid the rest of his things inside the entryway.”

Gwaine nodded. “Got it. Did you hear from Arthur?”

“Yes. Arthur’s coded message worked like a charm. No one suspected a thing, not even the servant delivering it. Though how Arthur expects to give all those guards watching him the slip is beyond me.”

“He’s done it before,” Gwaine reasoned.

“Yes, but he always had _Merlin_ with him before. No bets on how he managed it then…” Leon said drolly.

“That’s probably true,” Gwaine agreed. “The Princess never knew how good he had it.”

“Well, I’m willing to bet that he knows it now.”

“Yeah, except the whole, ‘Best friend locked in the dungeon while I’m trapped in my chambers,’ kind of puts a damper on things.”

“Gwaine...you do realise that, despite his best efforts, Arthur might not be able to get free.”

“Course.”

“Have you made a contingency plan for that?”

“Yeah. I plan to wait for Arthur until about two candlemarks after midnight, and if he and Merlin haven’t arrived by then, I’m going in after Merlin myself.”

“All right,” Leon nodded. “I’ll make sure I am awake and alone at that time, just in case you need my assistance. You were able to get the herbs from Gaius?”

“Last night. I put them right where Arthur told me to leave ‘em.”

“Good.” Leon stood and pulled the cowl of his hood up to shield his face again. He put out his hand and Gwaine clasped his forearm in the knight’s handshake.

“Best of luck, Gwaine, and if I don’t see you on the morrow, I will know what happened. And in that case? Take good care of him, and Godspeed to you both.”

“And you take good care of our future king. He’ll need all the help he can get with Merlin gone.”

The two knights shared a grim look, and then Leon left.

 

“You wished to see me,” Uther said, leaning both his hands on the rail in the gallery that overlooked the dark and empty ceremonial chamber. The lone torch on the wall barely illuminated a circle six feet wide around them.

“Yes, My Lord,” Agravaine replied. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. _Finesse_ , he reminded himself silently, _Finesse and concern…_

“And you needed to meet me _here_?” Uther demanded.

“I wanted to discuss something of a delicate nature and wished for us to speak in a place where there was no chance of us being overhead, Sire.”

“Well, if you didn’t have my attention before, Brother, you certainly have it now. What troubles you?

“I am concerned about Arthur.”

Uther patted Agravaine’s back in commiseration. “As am I. But once the sorcerer burns, all shall be set to rights, you’ll see. My son will be back to normal in no time.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord...but I fear it may not be as simple as that.”

“Why?” Uther asked sharply. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, I have had the opportunity to watch Arthur closely in the last year while you were unwell. I have sat with him in Council meetings and spoken with him privately on many, many occasions. And never _once_ have I seen any evidence that he was not thinking clearly.”

Uther waved a hand impatiently, as if to dismiss Agravaine’s statement. “You did not know my son before the sorcerer arrived. It is hardly surprising you would not detect a difference. Sorcery can be very insidious.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Agravaine agreed, nodding sycophantically. “But...there is more.”

Uther turned to face his brother-in-law, leaning against the railing with his hip whilst crossing his arms impatiently across his chest. “Go on.”

“Even from the time I first arrived in Camelot, I had noticed that Arthur’s relationship with his manservant was...unusual: the insolent speech, the constant teasing, the physicality of it. A man would have to be blind not to see their attachment to each other, or feel the tension that coils between them like a snake.”

Uther shrugged as if unconcerned. “It is a manservant’s duty to serve his master. That includes physically, should their master be so inclined. I cannot fault the choice; at least Arthur is not siring bastards.”

“Physical relief is one thing; but emotional attachment is quite another,” Agravaine said.

“But that is a result of the enchantment, certainly,” Uther replied. “The sorcerer confessed to it. Once he is dead, Arthur shall return to normal.”

Agravaine nodded. “Of course, Sire. That must be the way of it.” He paused for a beat before adding delicately, “But...what if it’s not?”

“Excuse me?” Uther said, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You dare to question me about my own son?”

Agravaine put his hands up in a sign of peace. “No insult was intended, Sire. But in the best interests of Camelot, should we not be considering every possibility?”

For several moments, Uther studied Agravaine, icy eyes boring into his skull ruthlessly. Agravaine kept his face moulded into a mask of earnest concern and prayed it would fool his brother-in-law. Finally, the king nodded once and demanded, “What are you suggesting?”

“Well, based on his vehement protest earlier today, I think it likely that Arthur will attempt to free his manservant tonight.”

“I’ve already considered that. With the amount of guards I have stationed around his room, Arthur won’t get far. Besides, I don’t see how that would prove anything other than that he _was_ enchanted, which I already knew.”

“Well, instead of stopping him, what if you allow Arthur to succeed?”

“ _What?_ ” Uther said in horror. “You want me to allow the sorcerer to escape?”

“Of course not, my lord. Perhaps I should have said been more clear. I meant that you should allow Arthur _think_ he has succeeded. If you can but observe him with his manservant when they believe themselves alone, the truth of the matter will out. And then you will know for sure whether Arthur’s involvement in the scheme is as a result of an enchantment or if it is...treason.”

“Treason!”

“I’m sorry, Sire, but if Arthur has been colluding with sorcerers of his own free will, then I’m not sure what else you could call it. The laws regarding such matters are quite clear.”

Deep in thought, the king appeared troubled. At last he said, “Perhaps you’re right. As much as I hate to think it could be true; I need to know if Arthur can be trusted.”

Uther rubbed his chin as he plotted. “I shall remove the guards watching the servant entrances to the royal wing. Knowing my son, that should be enough of an advantage to make whatever plan he has in mind work. And then I shall know that sorcerer’s plan once and for all.”

 

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when George arrived, a proud smile curving his lips as he carried Arthur’s food tray expertly perched on the fingertips of one hand.

“I have brought you an early dinner, Sire,” George announced superciliously, sliding the tray into position on the table in front of Arthur. “There is herb-crusted capon, some nice warm bread right out of the oven, a baked apple and a flagon of mead. I hope that suits your culinary taste.”

“It’s fine George, thank you,” Arthur replied, snatching the napkin from the servant’s hand before he had the opportunity to set it Arthur’s lap for him. Trying for a casual air, he asked, “So, were you able to locate Sir Leon?” “Oh yes, Sire.” George set a thick slice of the capon onto a metal trencher and then laid the buttered bread down next to it. “I found him down on the training grounds. I passed along your message just as instructed.”

“Good. And what was his reply?”

“He said that you could count on him and that everything would be in readiness, Sire.”

Arthur breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Excellent,” he said with a smile that quickly waned when he realized that was more praise than he gave Merlin most of the time. _Of course, Merlin is just a lot more fun to annoy,_ he thought, but the excuse now felt very hollow.

Merlin, who had all that power at his command, a man who (according to Gaius) could _stop time_ with a thought, had humbled himself to play servant to him for the last six and a half years. It had been a thankless job if ever there was one, but Merlin stayed by his side most faithfully. Honestly, Arthur didn’t know what it was that Merlin saw in him that inspired such loyalty.

Appetite ruined, Arthur set his utensils down before he’d even tasted a bite.

George looked concerned. “You need to eat, Sire,” he encouraged.

“I am no longer hungry,” Arthur said, his stomach sour thinking of Merlin rotting down in the cells with little to no food while he sat here being plied with the best stores in the kingdom.

“Starving yourself will not help Merlin,” George advised sagely, his voice barely above a whisper as if he were afraid of Arthur’s response. “He...would not want you to deny yourself for his sake.”

Arthur pounded his fists against the table in frustration. “I know he wouldn’t! Damned, stupid, idiotic imbecile!” His head drooped as he threaded his fingers through his hair and tugged as if it would somehow help.

After a moment, Arthur felt a tentative, hesitant hand on his back. “I...heard about what happened, Sire. With Merlin. It’s a terrible, nasty business.”

Horrifyingly, Arthur felt the burn of oncoming tears and fought hard to control them. “Yes. It is,” he croaked.

“And all those guards…” George tsked as he awkwardly patted Arthur on the back. “The way they’re all clustered about outside your door, you’d think there was a den of thieves in here rather than just one man!”

George straightened and pulled his hand away at last. He cleared his throat and then said in a tone that seemed simultaneously pointed and innocent, “It makes me glad that I get to use the servant’s entrance. Why, I didn’t see another soul all the way up from the kitchens! And thank goodness; all that attention makes me feel more than a little twitchy.”

Arthur looked up at George with a wide-eyed stare. _Did he really just…?_

“In fact, I feel a bit of a headache coming on,” George continued, almost as if he were talking to himself out loud. “Perhaps I should search out Gaius for assistance.” George looked at Arthur speculatively. “I could bring you something as well...something for your stomach perhaps?”

If he hadn’t been sure whether George was talking in double-speak before, Arthur surely knew it now. The stubborn glint in the manservant’s eyes spoke volumes.

Arthur nodded his head once in recognition of what was being said between the lines and then replied, “I thank you, but no. I already have the proper treatment on hand, should I have need of it.”

“Very well then, Sire. I think that, as I really am feeling poorly, I will retire early this evening. That is, as long as you have no objections.”

“No, of course not,” Arthur said magnanimously. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you. And perhaps by tomorrow your troubles will seem improved as well.”

George bowed low at the waist and turned to go. He hadn’t gone two steps when Arthur called out to him sotto-voce, “George?”

The servant turned back to face the prince expectantly.

“Why are you doing this?”

George’s eyes drifted up and to the left before he answered. “You are not the only one whose loved ones have suffered such an injustice, Sire.”

“Then, I am truly sorry for your loss,” Arthur replied humbly. “You are a good man, George.”

The servant bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “As are you, my lord,” he responded. “Godspeed.”

 

Since the healing, Uther had been more mentally unstable than Merlin had ever seen him, at least with regard to magic. Apparently the idea that sorcery might have touched him in even the slightest way plagued the king’s mind more than either he or Arthur could have anticipated. Merlin had honestly thought that Uther had been on the verge of imprisoning his own son over it. That was why Merlin had hoped that, for his own sake, Arthur would keep his head down and leave things be. After all, magic-dampening cuffs or no, Merlin could take care of himself.

But really, with Arthur being _Arthur_ , Merlin should have known better.

The sickly sweet smell of smoke wafting down the corridor was Merlin’s first clue. _Someone’s been stealing from Gaius’ stores, I see,_ Merlin thought with more than a little exasperation. With a sigh, Merlin untied his neckerchief, the metal manacles making the task ten times more difficult. He folded the material over itself into several layers and secured it around his face to cover his nose and mouth, filtering out the smell.

It wasn’t long before Merlin heard the bodies of his guards slumping to the floor. Once the smoke had dissipated, he heard the quiet pattern of Arthur’s stealth walk padding closer and closer to his cell.

As Arthur first crept into view, Merlin pulled his neckerchief back down around his neck and speared the prince with his eyes, shaking his head in disapproval. “Arthur,” he scolded as Arthur turned the key in the lock, “I told you to let this go.”

Yanking the iron-barred door open, Arthur stepped inside the dank, musty cell and propped his hands on his hips imperiously. “And I told _you_ that I wasn’t going to let you die.”

“I’m not going to die!” Merlin insisted in a furious whisper. “I told you that. What do you take me for?”

“The self-sacrificing idiot you usually are,” Arthur replied with one eyebrow quirked. “Saving face with my father is not worth _this_. You dying is _not_ an acceptable consequence.”

“I’ll have you know that I had a plan; a plan that you have now thoroughly _stuffed_ , I might add…” said Merlin, disgruntled.

“And I assume this plan of yours included magic?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded. “Of course.”

“Then, pray tell, how were you going to make that work while you have _these_ on?” Arthur yanked at the short chain between the metal manacles Merlin wore over the long sleeves of his tunic. “It’s not like my father was ever going to have them removed, you know…”

“I realise you haven’t seen me perform much magic yet, Arthur, but if you think these cuffs could actually stop me, then you are severely underestimating my power,” Merlin explained with a sigh.

Arthur’s eyes goggled. “They’re magic-blocking manacles, Merlin. Are you seriously trying to tell me that you could still do magic even with them on?”

“I didn’t say it would be _pleasant_ …” he admitted sheepishly, “but yes, I probably could.”

“By the Gods…” Arthur cursed under his breath. “Merlin, you are going to be the death of me yet.”

Merlin snorted. “Not bloody likely after all the effort I’ve put into keeping you alive, your Royal Pratliness.”

Arthur pointed an accusing finger at Merlin’s face. “We are going to have a long talk about that very soon, Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and shrugged one shoulder and looked away. He was not looking forward to that conversation.

Merlin’s face sobered as he said, “I can’t let you do this, Arthur. It’s not too late. No one saw you. If you left now, the guards would awake to find nothing amiss, no one the wiser.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Arthur said fiercely.

Merlin tilted his head upward, locking eyes with his friend. “I’ll be all right. I’ve got it under control.”

“And since when have any of your schemes gone to plan, Merlin?” Arthur glared at Merlin as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Because you can’t tell me it was part of your plan to almost be burned at the stake when you were trying to save Gwen…”

Squirming sheepishly, Merlin stammered, “Uh…well…”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Arthur interrupted with a small, satisfied nod. “Which is why we’ll be going with _my_ plan, thank you.”

“No one will be going anywhere…” a deep booming voice declared behind them.

Arthur felt an icy shiver down his spine as he turned to face the full wrath of his father, who was flanked by a half dozen men and the head of guards. “Father,” Arthur began, but his voice faltered when he saw how his father’s glower darkened still further.

“I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe you would betray me, too…but now I see that it is indeed true. There is no other possible explanation for your actions.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief. “I am not betraying you!”

Uther went on as if Arthur hadn’t even spoken. “I wanted to believe that you were bespelled, enthralled…and that’s why you were defending the sorcerer. But now my eyes have been opened. I overheard him arguing with you, trying to get you to abort your plan in order to save yourself. It is obvious that you are not here under his command, but rather, acting of your own volition…and that I cannot abide.”

Trying not to cower under his father’s heated glare, Arthur protested, gesturing vaguely behind him, “Merlin saved your _life_ …Surely he doesn’t deserve to die for _that_!”

“How can you still not understand what has been crystal clear to me for decades?” Uther raged. “Sorcerers cannot be trusted! There must have been some kind of ulterior motive, because no sorcerer would save my life, knowing theirs would be forfeit if they succeeded!”

Arthur tilted his chin higher in defiance. “Then you don’t know Merlin. He is the most self-sacrificing person I know.”

“Enough!” Uther bellowed, a wild edge to his voice. “Magic is a scourge, a pox upon this land! None of us will be safe until it is snuffed out entirely!”

“I don’t believe that, Father. Not anymore. ” Arthur insisted. “Not now that I’ve seen what good it can do.”

“How dare you question your king, you traitorous whelp!” Uther bellowed, and he struck Arthur hard enough across the face to make him stumble and fall to one knee. The sound of skin contacting with skin echoed obscenely around the walls of the small enclosure. Uther sneered, towering over Arthur, who held a hand to his cheek and stared up at his father in stunned shock.

“Father…” Arthur gasped, his voice thick with pain more emotional than physical.

“Do _not_ call me that,” Uther hissed, looking large and imposing as he filled the doorway of the tiny cell.

With almost superhuman strength, Uther grabbed Arthur by the collar of his tunic, nearly choking him as he was dragged to his feet. “Camelot would be better with _no_ heir than one that would tolerate magic.” He shoved Arthur out of the cell so hard that he landed sprawled out at the feet of the guards, spluttering and gasping for air.

Uther came nose to nose with Merlin; mere inches separated them. Still, Merlin refused to break eye contact, refused to be cowed by this tyrant of a king. “And _you_ …”

The silence itself felt like a threat as it stretched longer and longer between king and servant. A feverish hatred suffused Uther’s face, making him appear almost as mad as he had when Morgana had cursed him with the mandrake root. “Years of serving the house of Pendragon and you still have yet to learn proper deference, boy,” the king ground out between gritted teeth when Merlin refused to bow his head.

“I only serve _one_ Pendragon,” Merlin responded, his voice infuriatingly calm, “and it isn’t you.”

Uther’s arm sprung forward like a striking snake, one large hand grasping Merlin around the neck and squeezing hard, cutting off Merlin’s windpipe entirely just to watch him squirm. Except Merlin _didn’t_ squirm…nor did he defend himself; he just stood there serenely as if he were _allowing_ Uther to strangle the life out of him, as if he could stop Uther at any time if he so chose. Uther shoved him away in disgust. Merlin stumbled backward for a moment, but then righted himself and stood facing Uther once more, that incensing stare still boring into Uther’s skull.

“You have corrupted my son!” Uther hissed, pointing backward toward Arthur, who was now being dragged unceremoniously to his feet again and held in place by four guards. “You have turned him against me and everything that Camelot stands for!”

Merlin shook his head. “Arthur loves Camelot more than just about anything or anyone…except for you. He just would not let you die. I find it very ironic that you would condemn your son for seeking magic out in order to save you when you did the exact same to save Morgana’s.” Over Uther’s shoulder, Merlin could see Arthur’s eyes widen and his jaw drop at that news. Uther’s face turned red with fury as he denied, “I did no such thing!”

Merlin’s eyes drilled into Uther’s as he replied calmly, “You did. You asked Gaius to heal her with magic because she was your daughter. I know, Uther; I was there.”

“Then it is _your_ doing that she has turned against me!” Uther bellowed, grasping Merlin’s hair at the back of his head and yanking his face into such proximity that Merlin could feel the mist of spittle dotting his face. “Your magic corrupted her, too!”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Merlin’s cheeks flamed, as much from shame as from indignation. While it was true that exposure to Merlin’s magic in the way Uther meant had nothing to do with Morgana’s defection, the guilt of failure he felt for not supporting his former friend when she’d most needed it was a blood on his hands he could never wash off.

Merlin twisted his head away suddenly, yanking his head roughly out of Uther’s grasp. “Do you know where she had been going the night she fell down the stairs, Uther? She was on her way to your rooms to kill you.”

Uther shook his head as if Merlin’s words were bees he could drive away with the movement. “You lie. How could you possibly know that?”

“Someone saw it in a vision,” Merlin responded grimly. “A vision that foretold your death. At first I didn’t want to believe it, but then everything that I had been told started coming true. I…tried to stop it, although I never meant for her to get hurt.”

“Were that true, then it was in your best interest not to stop her,” Uther concluded with smug satisfaction, believing he’d finally caught the sorcerer in a lie. “There would have been no logical reason to stop the murder of the person who curtails your freedom.”

“I agree that it would have been in my best interest--and Camelot’s as well--because Arthur will be _ten times_ the king you could ever be,” Merlin declared, his full lips compressed into a thin line. “Just as it would have been in my best interest to let you die last night. But Arthur is my friend and I couldn’t do that to him. You’re his father and he loves you, though with the way you’ve just treated him, gods only know _why_.”

Uther actually snorted in disbelief. “The Crown Prince friends with _you_ , the bastard son of a peasant? Certainly not!”

“I’m only a bastard because of _you_ ,” Merlin hissed, his voice an octave lower than normal, and twice as gravelly. “And yes…” Merlin’s eyes flickered over Uther’s shoulder to rest on Arthur for a split-second before he declared with certainty, “friends.”

Uther’s eyes glinted like cold steel. “Then I hope you are pleased at the result, _sorcerer_ ,” the king said loudly so that the guards and Arthur could hear. “for you have just condemned your _friend_ to share your fate.”

Merlin’s eyes widened impossibly huge even as he witnessed Arthur’s face go completely ashen. Even the guards holding Arthur’s arms gasped at that announcement. “You can’t be serious!” Merlin gasped, but by the look on the king’s face, it was quite clear that he was.

A muscle in Uther’s jaw flexed, but he ground out, “The use of magic in Camelot is banned. The law is the law, and no man is above the law.”

“None except _you_ , you mean…” Merlin muttered darkly.

Merlin was cuffed so hard against the cheek that he saw stars and tears sprang to his eyes.

“Silence!” Uther bellowed.

A dribble of blood inched down Merlin’s cheek from a gash created by Uther’s ring. Merlin glared insolently at the king as a buzzing sound filled his ears. “So, because of your hatred of magic, you would murder your own son.”

“He is no son of mine. He is a traitor; to me and to Camelot, and he will be treated as such. He deserves to be punished for his crimes.”

Dismissing him at last, Uther turned his back on Merlin and addressed the head of the guards. “Lock him up,” he declared dispassionately. “He has made his choice and wishes to stand on the side of magic rather than decry it as he should.”

Uther’s eyes flicked up and down his son as if he were a stranger. “So be it. Let the executioner know to build another pyre. Tomorrow, he will burn with the sorcerer.”

Horror licked in cold tendrils down Merlin’s spine before terror followed hot and fast on its heels. Merlin’s eyes locked on Arthur’s face, cataloguing every detail: the pain and sorrow and anger, and yes _fear_ that Merlin found there was unspeakably painful. His Arthur should never be this afraid, and certainly not because his own father had made him feel that way.

The sizzling pressure inside Merlin’s head grew more and more painful until he thought his skull might actually shatter. Merlin watched Uther’s retreat from the cell as if through pinpoint holes and his skin crackled as if he were already burning.

And then, Merlin felt as if he _did_ explode. Pain blossomed and multiplied from every nerve ending as an immensely powerful voice burst from Merlin’s throat of its own volition, its tone guttural and primal, “No!”

 

As Arthur was roughly grasped by the forearms and held immobile by two of his father’s guard, he gulped deep rasping breaths, trying to shake the dizzy feeling from his head and the coltish wobbling from his knees.

He couldn’t stop a grim smile of pride from touching his lips at Merlin’s irreverence toward his father and Merlin’s unswerving loyalty toward him. Arthur felt a moment of terror when his father’s hand clenched around Merlin’s throat. Yet, the unruffled, in-control look on Merlin’s face kept Arthur in check. Arthur could see in that moment that no matter how insane it sounded—a warlock who could perform magic even with magic-blocking manacles on—Merlin had truly meant every word.

Knowing that Merlin literally had that much power at his command should have made a man who grew up believing magic was evil rather worried. Instead, it only deepened the innate sense of trust Arthur had in Merlin. It was now plainly obvious that Merlin could have harmed Arthur in uncountable ways in the years he’d been Arthur’s manservant, and yet, he never had. Never once had he been tempted to take revenge on the father through the son, as so many other sorcerers had done. Instead, Merlin had pulled Arthur out of the way of daggers and drank poison for him, put himself in harm’s way again and again: to save Gwen’s father, to save Gwen, to save Arthur, and even to save the magic-hating King of Camelot.

And there Merlin was, in essence _allowing_ Uther to strangle him when Arthur was sure that he could have easily struck him down with only a thought. If nothing else up to now had convinced Arthur, this moment certainly would have; magic itself was _not_ evil…and neither was Merlin. In fact, Merlin was probably the _least_ evil person he knew. The man cried over unicorns and threw himself in front of dorochas, for Gods’ sake!

Arthur quietly plotted how to remove himself from the grasp of four guards as he watched the interaction between Merlin and his slightly insane father. It felt a bit disloyal to think about his father as being mad, but he could not deny the truth of the matter. He hadn’t seen his father this wild since just after they’d found Morgana.

 _Morgana._ Arthur’s eyes widened at the revelation that his father had used magic to heal her. Though he’d denied it, Arthur could see the truth on the king’s face. And Merlin…even knowing she was a traitor, he’d saved Morgana’s life, too. He knew it.

Arthur visibly flinched at his father’s use of the word “bastard”. Arthur had known for a long time that it was true, of course. Those days he’d spent in Ealdor defending them against Kanen and his henchmen had been an eye-opening experience. Most of the populace of the town had given Merlin a rather wide berth, even though he had brought them salvation in the form of Prince Arthur. And from the way Merlin and Hunith stood slightly away from the crowd as if by instinct, it was clear that this was not a new development. It was as if the shame of Merlin’s birth could somehow taint all of _them_ by association. He couldn’t blame Merlin at all for wanting to leave such a stifling, superstitious place if that was how they treated one of their own.

Yet, it was one thing to know of it, but another entirely to say it out loud with the intent to injure, as his father clearly did.

Although, Merlin’s face appeared unfazed and purposely impassive, Arthur could see the seething anger in the almost golden flash of Merlin’s eyes and in the tensing of his fists at his father’s use of the word.

Merlin’s insistence that the accident of his birth was the King’s fault puzzled Arthur and he squirreled the thought away with the intent of asking about it another time.

A soft smile touched Arthur’s lips as Merlin glanced his way and vehemently declared them friends. Only Merlin would flout convention and class enough to believe that a prince and a peasant could be friends…and for that, Arthur was truly grateful. However unlikely, it was the truth. Arthur was certain he could ask for no greater or more loyal friend than Merlin.

And then the unthinkable happened; his own father condemned him to death. Arthur was struck mute. Surely he couldn’t _mean_ that, could he?

But then the king turned to face him. His gaze was icy cold as it studied Arthur as if he were a disgusting insect rather than his own flesh and blood. And in that moment, he finally saw the truth that Merlin had been trying to protect him from; that in saving his father’s life, _both_ Merlin’s and Arthur’s had become forfeit.

Arthur knew his father was speaking, that his words were exacting his twisted version of justice…but he didn’t hear them. Instead, Arthur’s attention was arrested by the sight of Merlin; the way his eyes glowed as if made of molten gold and his skin shimmered and sparked as if he was actually made of lightning. His unruly dark hair whipped about his head and the fabric of his tunic rippled and snapped as if he were caught in a windstorm. As the very air around them pulsed and hummed, agonizing pain twisted Merlin’s face into a grimace. Yet, when he spoke, his voice rang out more powerfully than Arthur had ever heard it.

“ _No!_ ”

And then there was a blinding flash, a deafening crack, and then an oppressive wave of heat toppled Arthur over backward as it raced outward from Merlin’s cell in every direction.

After several moments of stunned disbelief, Arthur blinked his eyes rapidly, his ears still ringing as he tried to acclimate his eyes to the relative darkness of the hallway after being exposed to such a bright light. Gingerly, Arthur rolled over onto his stomach, expecting hands to grab him and pull him back…but none did. Glancing behind him, Arthur found that his former captors now lay scattered around him, unconscious.

Arthur turned to peer blearily toward the cell, unsure of what he would find. His father was splayed awkwardly in an insensible pile of limbs that was half in and half out of the open doorway of the cell. Half dazed, Arthur felt along the floor, sliding his hand onto the king’s chest, ensuring that he yet lived before unlatching the master key ring from his belt.

Arthur gingerly crawled past his father and dragged himself upright using the bars of the cell, holding a hand to his throbbing head.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered hoarsely, peering into the dank room, now thick with smoke.

The sight that met his eyes made him gasp.

Merlin was lying on the floor of the cell, enclosed in a circle of smouldering straw that had been burned right down to the stone three feet in every direction. His tunic was still smoking, as were what remained of his sleeves after the ends had been scorched away.

But unlike Uther and the guards, Merlin’s body was not still. Instead, he was thrashing about on the stone floor in what looked to be some kind of seizure. And it was no wonder, for Merlin’s entire body was limned with arcs of crackling static so bright blue-white that it hurt Arthur’s eyes, even through the smoke-filled haze. Merlin’s mouth was open in a silent scream, one of his long-fingered hands clutching at his heart. Branches of the unnatural lightning filled his open mouth and made his eyes--which were rolled back so far into his skull that all Arthur could see was the whites of them--glow that same eerie colour.

“Merlin!” Arthur breathed, horrified.

At first Arthur couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but then his eyes followed the streams of forked light back to their source. _It was the cuffs!_ According to Gaius, the Cuffs of Isernhæft were supposed to block a sorcerer’s magic completely; but apparently whomever had made the accursed things hadn’t counted on a sorcerer like Merlin. So, even though the cuffs couldn’t completely stop Merlin from using his magic, it was clear that they would make Merlin pay dearly every time he did.

Not even thinking about possible risk to himself in that minute, Arthur scrambled forward frantically to pin Merlin down at the shoulders. Arthur felt a split-second shot of excruciating pain before the wildly crackling static abruptly died out.

Merlin seemed to recognise Arthur’s touch. A small, agonised sigh whispered from between his dry, cracked lips before his eyelids closed and his body went utterly limp.

There was no time to think or plan, for there was no telling how long the king and the guards would be unconscious. Instead, Arthur acted purely on instinct. He stood, pulling Merlin’s body up by the armpits before pulling his friend’s dead weight over his shoulder. Stepping over the king’s body, he stole up the corridor with his cargo, pausing only long enough to draw a sword from one of the guard’s sheaths before moving on.

As Arthur reached the main floor, he slunk along the corridor away from the dungeons, trying desperately to think of any way he could get them both out of Camelot without being noticed. The original plan had been to get Merlin out through the secret passageway in the armoury, but that route was no longer viable. It required both Merlin to be mobile and for Arthur to act as a distraction to remove the guards from in front of it.

With a deep sigh, Arthur readjusted Merlin’s weight across his shoulders. As loathe as he was to harm any Camelot citizen, Arthur realised grimly that he may have to take lives in order to get them both out of the Citadel and to the relative safety of the Darkling Woods.

Gripping the pommel of his stolen sword tighter, Arthur swung into view in the antechamber where he knew two guards would be, ready to fight his way through. But, to his surprise, the two guards in question were slumped against the wall in sound slumber. As opposed to the guards in the dungeon, Arthur knew they were sleeping, since one of them was snoring.

“Huh,” Arthur mused aloud and then peeked around the corner. No guards down this hallway, although there was one serving girl curled up along the wall, hands pillowed under her head and a pile of laundry scattered at her feet.

Arthur’s eyes widened in recognition and then he cautiously crept over to a window overlooking the main courtyard. Just as he expected, every last person he saw was asleep.

It was like the Knights of Medhir all over again…except this time the extremely powerful magic had been cast by Merlin…wordlessly…while wearing magic-blocking cuffs.

“Gods, Merlin…” Arthur gasped in absolute awe, “just how much magic do you _have_?”

Since Merlin was unconscious, Arthur hadn’t expected an answer and received none. All he could do was be grateful for the chance it gave them; to escape unhindered without loss of life, to be able to cover their tracks, and to figure out what to do next.

Not knowing how _much_ time Merlin’s spell had bought them, Arthur moved as quickly as he could with his burden, not bothering to keep his movements stealthy or his footfalls quiet. It was vitally important that he put as many miles between them and Camelot as possible whilst it was still dark. Adrenaline flooded Arthur’s system, and he ran at a punishing pace, Merlin’s limp body jostling against his neck and shoulders again and again.

Arthur’s lungs were burning and his muscles screaming by the time he reached the entrance to the Darkling Woods.

Even in the dim moonlight that filtered through the trees, Arthur could detect Gwaine’s deep sigh of relief.

Arthur removed one hand from around Merlin’s legs to clasp Gwaine’s forearm in a friendly handshake as the knight exclaimed, “Arthur! Thank the gods. I was just about to go in after you two. What took you so long?”

 _Where do I even start?_ Arthur thought morosely.

“There were...complications,” Arthur declared flatly.

“I can see that,” Gwaine nodded toward Merlin’s dead weight with his chin. He reached toward Arthur hesitantly. “Here, let me take him…”

He hated it to relinquish Merlin into anyone else’s care, but Arthur was too worn out to protest. Gwaine carried Merlin over to the small campfire and laid him down on a bedroll that was laid close to the fire.

Gwaine motioned to a log situated not far from Merlin’s body and sat down on a stump facing the prince. “So what happened?”

“My fath--” Arthur began, but the word got stuck and wouldn’t come out. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and tried again. “The king caught me trying to release Merlin from the cells and overheard us talking. He knows that I was never enchanted after all.”

“Shite.”

Arthur took a deep, fortifying breath and squared his aching shoulders. “Because of my support of magic, the king has declared me a traitor to Camelot and disowned me. I am now just as much of an outlaw as Merlin.”

“What? Is that man insane?”

“Yes, I am beginning to fear that that is _exactly_ what’s wrong with him,” Arthur sighed.

“Clearly, he’s nuts if he could actually do that to his own son,” Gwaine agreed bitterly. He handed a metal flask across the fire to Arthur, and the prince took a large swig out of what ended up being a container of mead. When he tried to hand it back, however, Gwaine told him to keep it. “I have a feeling you’re going to need that a lot more than me.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, taking another drink before recapping the flask.

“So, what’s with Sleeping Beauty, then? Did you forget the antidote?”

“He’s not asleep,” Arthur informed Gwaine, pausing to straighten out the woolen blanket that had been draped over the man’s shoulder. “Merlin passed out after doing a staggeringly large amount of magic. He put everyone in the entire city to sleep, presumably to facilitate our escape.”

Gwaine stared at Merlin’s wrists from where they were peeking out from underneath the blankets. Even in the low light emanating from the fire, it was obvious they were still shackled. “But aren’t those made out of iron?”

“Yes, I think so. At least the inside of them are.”

“Then, how did he…?”

Arthur shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

The two men sat in silence, listening to the wood crackle in the campfire until Gwaine finally asked, “Arthur, what are you going you do?”

Arthur looked wistfully over his shoulder at the dark, looming hulk of the Citadel in the distance and sighed. “I--” he began, but then a small snuffling sound captured his attention. Looking down, the prince realised that Merlin was finally coming around.

Merlin shivered involuntarily against the cold and then whimpered as if even that small movement had pained him.

“Shh,” Arthur soothed, sotto-voce, as he leaned over to brush Merlin’s hair away from his face with his fingers before worrying his thumb along the ridge of Merlin’s cheekbone again and again. “It’s all right, Merlin. You’re all right. We’re safe.”

Merlin sighed softly and turned his head so that it was cradled in the wide palm of Arthur’s hand. “Arth’r?” Merlin slurred hoarsely as his eyes flickered open at last.

“Merlin,” Arthur acknowledged as he breathed a silent sigh of relief. “How do you feel?”

“Bloody awful,” he murmured, his eyes meeting Arthur’s at last. The firelight made Merlin’s eyes glow in a sickly parody of his magic. “Don’t think I could move if I tried. You?”

“I’ve been better,” Arthur admitted. “I’ll have you know that you’re a lot heavier than you look,” he teased with a gentle smile.

“Not what I meant,” Merlin whispered.

”I know,” Arthur replied. A movement in his peripheral vision had the prince glancing up. In a surprisingly sensitive move, Gwaine had stepped away to water the horse, thus giving them at least a modicum of privacy.

Merlin’s throat worked as he swallowed with difficulty. “You...you need to leave me. I’ll only slow down your escape. Go; save yourself. Whatever happens to me doesn’t matter so long as I know that _you_ are safe.”

“You really _are_ an idiot if you think I’m leaving without you,” Arthur insisted, his fingertips caressing the soft skin at the nape of Merlin’s neck.

“But, Arthur…”

“No. There are no ‘but’s. You refused to leave Camelot without me; I'm doing the same. Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

Merlin opened his mouth as if to protest, but Arthur silenced him by resting a finger against it. And then, as if he simply couldn’t help himself, Arthur’s finger began to gently trace the shape of Merlin’s mouth...bottom lip, then top, then bottom again in a maddening circle.

“All this time you’ve been taking care of me. You’ve risked your life again and again in order to protect me. You’ve let me lean on you; let me need you.”

Arthur combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair, massaging soft patterns into his scalp. “But it’s okay to lean on me sometimes, too, you know. It’s all right for you to need me back. Let me help _you_ now, Merlin. _Please._ ”

Merlin’s breath hitched as tears welled in his eyes. At last, here was someone that knew who and what Merlin really was and wasn't afraid of it. Someone who--despite everything--still cared for him, still wanted him. _Finally,_ he'd found somewhere to belong and someone to belong _to_...and he was terrified. 

He’d waited his entire life for this moment; but now that it was here, it was nothing like what Merlin had expected. Instead, it was like standing at the edge of a precipice, not knowing whether it was better to stay put or to jump into the void and embrace the unknown. He wanted to run away from it, wanted to hide as he'd always done; but for Arthur, he could be brave. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, nodded wordlessly...and _jumped._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have already begun the sequel. I had originally hoped to write it all as one huge, epic adventure, but there just wasn't time if I wanted to make deadline (or something close to it...) 
> 
> So, while this specific part of the story is complete, there is still a lot more to tell, and I _do_ mean to tell it! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! <3


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